ING EDITION. No. 2$oi. 



GRAFT 



A Comedy in Four Acts 



BY 



HAROLD BRIGHOUSE 




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GRAFT 




GRAFT 



A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 



By 

HAROLD BRIGHOUSE 



Copyright, 1913, by Samuel French, Limited 



New York 

SAMUEL FRENCH 

Publisher 

28-30 WEST 38TH STREET 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



£ v^\3 



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fa 






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THE PLAYS OF HAROLD BRIGHOUSE 

DEALING IN FUTURES 

A Play in Three Acts. is. net. 

THE ODD MAN OUT 

A Comedy in Three Acts. is. net. 

THE SCARING OFF OF TEDDY DAWSON 
A Comedy in One Act. 6d. 

THE OAK SETTLE. 

A Comedy in One Act. 6d. 

THE PRICE OF COAL, 

A Play in One Act. 6d. 



4 



DC1.D 32401 



GRAFT 



A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS 



PERSONS REPRESENTED 



Jim Pilling 

Sally Pilling . 

Dick Pilling 

Walter Montgomery 

Stephen Verity 

Ernest Smithson ) 

Samuel Bamford > 

Nathaniel Alcorn . 

Archibald Vining 

Augustus Montgomery 

Mrs. Vining 

Mrs. Montgomery 

Marjorie Vining 

Lucy Verity .... 

A Chauffeur. 

Janet . . . . . 

Maid at Mrs. Vining's House. 

A Man and his Wife in search of 



A Gardener. 
. His Wife. 
Their Child. 
A Curate. 
An Alderman . 

Town Councillors. 
. Borough Surveyor. 

Of the Polygon. 

Stephen's Daughter. 
. Lucy's Maid. 
lodgings. 



The Scene 



in a Northern manufacturing town at 
present time. 



GRAFT 

First produced, under the title of " The Polygon," by the 
Play Actors' Society at the Court Theatre, London, on 
February 5, 191 1, with the following cast: — 



Jim Pilling 
Sally Pilling 
Dick Pilling 
Walter Montgomery 
Stephen Verity . 
Ernest Smithson. 
Samuel Bamford 
Nathaniel Alcorn 
Archibald Vining 
Augustus Montgomery 
Mrs. Vining 
Mrs. Montgomery 
Lucy Verity 
Chauffeur . 
Janet. 
Maid . 
Man . . 



. Mr. H. K. Ayliff. 

Miss Lorna Lawrence. 

Miss Ida Mansfield. 

Mr. Frank Randell. 
. Mr. Herbert Bunston. 

Mr. Alfred Harris. 

Mr. Fewlass Llewellyn. 
. Mr. James Geldred. 

Mr. Allan Jeayes. 

Mr. Hugh Tabberer. 

Miss Lucy Sibley. 
. Miss Caroline Fenton. 
. , Miss Kitty Carew. 

Mr. Wyn Weaver. 

Miss Constance Little. 

Miss Irene Malvesyn. 
. Mr. A If red Bristowe . 



Produced by Miss Rose Mathews. 



Cast of the production by 
the Gaiety Theatre, Manchester, 



Dick Pilling . 

Sally Pilling 

Jim Pilling . 

Walter Montgomery 

Stephen Verity 

A Chauffeur 

A Man . 

His Wife 

Lucy .Verity 

Janet 

Nathaniel Alcorn . 

Samuel Bamford . 

Ernest Smithson . 

Archibald Vining . 

Augustus Montgomery 

Mrs. Vining . 

Mrs. Montgomery . 

Marjorie Vining . 

Maid 



Miss Horniman's Company at 
on September 9, 1912. 



Mabel Salkeld. 
Miss Irene Rooke. 
Frank Darch. 
Milton Rosmer. 
Edward Landor. 
Arthur Milton. 
Reginald W. Fry. 
Doris Bateman. 
Sybil Thorndike. 
Doris Bateman. 
Lionel Briggs. 
Ernest Bodkin. 
H. A. Young. 
Br ember Wills. 
Ernest Haines. 
Hilda Sims. 
Annie Mo Her. 
Muriel Stewart. 
Marie Royter. 



Produced by Mr. Lewis Casson, by whom this acting 
edition was prepared. 



The Fee, for each and every representation of this 
play by Amateurs is Three Guineas, payable in 
advance to Messrs. Samuel French, Limited, 26, 
Southampton Street, Strand, London, or their 
authorized representatives, who will issue a written 
permission for the performance to take place. No 
representation may be given unless this written 
authority has first been obtained. 

All the costumes, wigs and properties used in the 
performance of plays contained in French's Acting 
Edition may be hired or purchased reasonably from 
Messrs. Chas. H. Fox, Ltd., 27, Wellington Street, 
Strand, London. 



M.S.C 



GRAFT 

ACT I 

A small room on the first floor, awkwardly overcrowded 
with the entire furniture of a cottage, a pile of which 
is stacked in the left corner and covered with a sheet ; 
the plain iron bed is right, the window coming 
between its foot and the pile of furniture; table 
.centre; three plain upright chairs and one wicker 
armchair before the fire; fireplace left; opposite 
it right a kitchen dresser well stocked with crockery ; 
pans and kettle about the fireplace. For all the 
uncomfortable crowding the room is bright and well 
kept. Door right. It is 7 p.m. on a September 
evening, and the approach of dusk is noticed grad- 
ually. 

Jim Pilling, a gardener, has finished tea and sits 
in his shirt-sleeves before the debris of the meal 
facing spectator lighting a briar pipe. Jim is 
thirty, clean looking, dressed in his rough working 
clothes w'thout coat or his combined collar and 
" dicky " and red tie, which hangs with the coat 
behind the door. Sally Pilling is transferring 
the last of the table utensils to a tray which she puts 
on the bed ; then removing the white cloth and shaking 
crumbs into the fire ; a red cloth is underneath. 
Sally is of the pale complexion usual to a country 
girl living in a town ; she dresses neatly and has 
an apron on ; Dick, a thin boy of eight, in a blue 
sailor suit, gets off his chair at the table. 



10 GRAFT. 

Dick. Can I go out and play now, mother ? 
(Jim rises and crosses l. with chair.) 

Sally. Yes. (She crosses to door and takes 
down from a hook his suitor hat.) Here's your hat. 
(Dick comes to her, she secures it on his head with 
an elastic band.) Don't go far from the door, Dick. 
I'll shout you when it's bedtime. 

Jim. And don't get playing in the road — keep on. 
the footpath. 

Dick. Yes, dad. (He runs out as Sally opms 
the door.) 

Sally. Don't get run over now. 

Jim. The young 'un misses the country. (Sits 
in armchair above fire.) 

Sally (closing door). We all do that, Jim. 

Jim. Aye. Streets are no sort of playground for 
a growing child. Did you get out while he was at 
school this afternoon ? 

Sally (gathering up tea-things). Oh, yes. There's 
not the cleaning to do in a single room to keep me in 
it all day. 

Jim. No ; better for you to get out a bit. 

Sally (dully). It's no pleasure walking in the 
streets. 

Jim. Not when there's shops to look at ? 

Sally. You can get tired of shops. (Tea-things 
on tray.) 

Jim. You're no true woman. 

Sally. I'm no town's woman. (Crosses to Jim.) 
1 miss the flowers and the green. I'm pining for the 
country, Jim. 

Jim. And I'm same way, only I do get the smell 
of the earth in Mr. Vining's garden and it's not so bad 
for me. 

Sally (wistfully standing above his chair). , I'd 
dearly love to see that garden, Jim. 

Jim. I know you would; but they're that strict 



GRAFT. 11 

about the Polygon. No getting in unless you've 
business. 

Sally. It does seem hard when there's not a 
park nor so much as a blade of grass in the whole 
blessed town except the Polygon. (Puts tray on bed.) 

Jim. The old days were the best, Sally, on the 
estate where we were born. 

Sally. We didn't know it, either, till Sir Charles 
began to sack his men. 

Jim. No; many a time I've grumbled at the work 
there and the pay. It's a judgment on me. 

Sally. You weren't sacked for grumbling. 
(Shaking cloth in fire.) 

Jim (bitterly). No. I was sacked because Sir 
Charles lost so much money on the turf he couldn't 
keep six gardeners any longer — and me the one to go 
because we'd only our Dick and t'others had more 
childer. 

Sally (mildly surprised at his tone). Gentlemen 
will have their sport, Jim. It might be worse. 
You dropped lucky into a job. (Folds cloth and 
puts in dresser drawer.) 

Jim. Aye, the job's all right, and Mr. Vining's a 
good gentleman to work for — pay's better than the 
country an' all, though I can't get stuff to thrive in 
Mr. Vining's garden as I'd wish. (Rises.) Town 
air kills 'em. Yes, we'd do all right, Sally, if (looking 
round theroom as if caged) — if there was room to live. 
That's what we want — room to live. We've our 
sticks for a proper house eating their heads off in yon 
corner (indicating the pile), and I've wages enough 
to pay rent for a house and no one 'ull take it from me. 
There's not a house to let in all Carrington, nor like 
to be but what there's plenty waiting for it before 
our turn come, and we've waited three years now. 

Sally (consoling him). Never mind, Jim. We've 
got our privacy. We've a room to ourselves. 

(She crosses to cupboard, gets work out and puts on \ 



12 GRAFT. 

Jim (hotly). /A room! One room! (Cooling.) 
Aye, but you're right. Let's be thankful for small 
mercies. (Sits.) I mind it looked like we shouldn't 
even find a room when we came seeking. But it's 
hard to live decent in here, and it's harder on Dick 
than us. Eat and sleep an' all in one room's not a 
Christian way of life. 

(A knock at the. door. Sally opens it. Walter 
Montgomery stands without. He is a curate, 
twenty-eight years old, athletic in build, clean-shaven, 
with a bright manner and a strong jaw.) 

Walter. May I come in ? Good evening, Mrs. 
Pilling. 

Sally. Surely, sir. 

(Enter Walter. Sally closes the door, adroitly 
taking her apron off as she does so and hanging 
it up. Jim makes for his coat.) 

Walter. Good evening, Mr. Pilling. (Seeing 
his objective.) You're all right as you are. 

Jim. Shirt-sleeves don't seem respectful, sir. 

Walter (genially).. Rubbish. It's a pity if you 
can't be cool in your own room. 

Jim (apologetically). The fire does make it hot in 
here. 

Sally. And we must have a fire to boil the 
kettle, sir. 

(Walter looks at the closed window, but, having 
experience, makes no suggestion. Jim knocks 
his pipe out on the fire-bar.) 

Walter (seeing him, but too late to stop him). Oh, 
don't do that — here, try a pipe of mine. (Delving 
in his coat tails for pouch and offering it.) 

Jim (shyly). Well, sir 

Walter. Go on, man. (Jim accepts and fills 
his pouch ; Sally dusts a chair with the corner of the 
table cloth.) Now you know that chair didn't need 



GRAFT. 13 

dusting, Mrs. Pilling. (He sits.) Well, how's the 
garden, Mr. Pilling ? 

Jim. Oh, nicely, sir, nicely. 

Walter. Yes. So I thought when I had a look 
at it over the hedge. (Turning to Sally.) I live 
next door to Mr. Vining, you know, Mrs. Pilling. 

Sally. Oh, but he can't get the garden to suit 
him, sir. (Sits R. of table.) 

Walter. Oh ! How's that ? 

Jim. Thanks. (Returning pouch. Walter fills 
a pipe and lights up.) This air's ruination to a 
garden, sir. 

Walter. You put up a jolly good fight against 
it, then. My father's garden looks pretty mean 
compared with yours. 

Jim (shyly). Well, sir, you see, your father will 
try and look after his himself. 

Walter. Yes. He's awfully attached to his 
garden. 

Jim (with a touch of patronage). And he doesn't 
do it badly — for an amateur, as you might say, but 
— well, he makes mistakes. 

Sally (protestingly) . Jim ! 

Walter. Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pilling. Dick 
keeping well? 

Sally (formally). Oh, yes, thank you, sir. 

Walter. I saw him outside as I came in. I 
fancied the little chap looked pale. 

Jim (gravely). He does look pale. 

Walter. Anything the matter? 

Jim. No, sir, no . . . only this. 

Walter (vaguely). This ? 

Jim. This room — living in one room and nothing 
but streets to run about in. 

Sally. You can't keep a child inside, sir. 'Tisn't 
natural. The streets if it's fine and the stairs when 
it's wet out. 

Walter. None too safe, Mrs. Pilling, either of 
'em. 



14 GRAFT. 

Sally. But what are you to do ? 

Walter (hopelessly). Nothing, I suppose. 

Jim. Folks can't thrive cramped up the way we are. 
If garden stuff won't go in the air, it can't be good for 
humans. 

(A knock at the door. Without waiting for Sally, 
who starts towards door, Stephen Verity enters. 
He is fifty, iron grey, with a good deal of iron in 
his composition, though just now concerned more 
with the velvet glove than the mailed fist. A self- 
made man, he is cynical, domineering, dryly humor- 
ous at times, an ugly customer if crossed, with a 
strong jaw and tightly closed lips. Dressed in 
morning coat and grey trousers with very square 
toed boots, turned down collar, black tie. His 
coat is good solid broadcloth, but the cut is palpably 
local.) 

Stephen (off). Are ye in, Pilling? (He enters 
and sees Walter. Sally and Walter rise — 
grimacing at Walter.) Oh ! (He stops short in 
doorway.) 

Jim (with deference nicely regulated some degrees 
lower than that he showed Walter). Come in, Mr. 
Verity. 

Walter (holding out hand). How do you do, Mr. 
Verity ? 

Ste. (shaking hands and speaking with laboured 
politeness). How do you do, Mr. Montgomery ? 
(Dropping his hand — sneeringly.) 

(He appropriates the wicker chair. Walter sits 
edgeways on the table.) 

I didn't expect to find you here. What are you 
doing ? Looking after their souls ? 

Walter (pleasantly). I dropped in for a chat and 
a smoke, before going on to keep my appointment 
at your house. What are you. doing ? (Sits l. 
of table.) 



GRAFT. 15 

Ste. I'm looking after their bodies, only some of 
them won't see it. Pilling's a tough nut to crack. 

Walter. Not gathered him in yet? 

Ste. No, but I shall. He's one of your flock. 
It takes time to get hold of these fellows who come 
in from the country, {spitefully) where the squire 
and the parson spell omnipotence. He'll change his 
tune yet, though. 

Jim (shaking his head). I'm not the changing sort. 

Ste. (confidently). You will be. A year or two 
more of this room and you'll be ripe for anything. 

Sally (lifting the tray). We're ripe now for a 
change from this. 

Ste. Don't go, Mrs. Pilling. 

Sally. I can get my turn at the sink for washing 
up now. 

Ste. That can wait. I want to ask you some- 
thing. 

Sally (replacing the tray). Yes, sir ? (Sits r. 
of table.) 

Ste. (after brief pause). Well, now, Mrs. Pilling, 
what would you say we need most in Carrington ? 

Sally (promptly). Fresh air. 

Ste. You've hit the nail on the head. Trust a 
woman to be sensible when health's at stake. I've 
a. piece of news for you. There's talk of getting a 
recreation ground for Carrington. 

Walter (interested — sincerely). Indeed! I hadn't 
heard. It's a most interesting thing. 

Jim. And about time too. (Sits below fire.) 

Ste. (sentimentalizing). Yes, you'll be able to take 
Mrs. Pilling down for a stroll on a summer's evening 
or a Sunday afternoon and watch little Dick play 
about on the soft grass breathing the fresh air and 
fancying yourselves back in the country again. No 
need to have Dick running about in the streets then. 

Jim (curtly). When ? 

Ste. Well, nothing's settled yet, of course. I'm 
bringing it up at the next Council meeting and I've 



16 GRAFT. 

a backing on both sides. Alderman Verity's a power 
in Carrington, I don't mind telling you. 

Jim. I don't know about your power, sir. What 
I'm wondering is how it 'ull strike my boss. 

Walter. It sounds excellent. 

Jim (suspiciously). And where might your land 
be, Mr. Verity? 

Ste. Ah, that's a secret yet. 

Jim. Um. Recreation ground two mile away's 
no use to my lad and you'll not find land nearer. 

Ste. It'll not be five minutes from your door. 

(Walter turns interestedly from one to the other.) 

Jim. Then you'll have to burrow for it or hang it 
in the air. 

Ste. No, we shan't. The land we have in view's 
built on at present. 

Jim. Lots of good that, 'ull do — turning people 
out of house and home to make a playing field, 
when houses are so scarce an' all. 

Walter. Yes. To my mind it's more housing 
accommodation that's most urgent here, Mr. Verity. 
Ste. We'll get neither without we're helped. 
There'll be a lot of opposition. 
Walter. Surely not. 

Ste. Oh, yes, there will. We Progressives can't 
carry anything in the Council unless there's a big 
force of public opinion at our backs. 

Walter (confidently). You won't lack that if 
you've a practicable plan. 

Ste. (hotly). Practicable! Nothing ever is prac- 
ticable to some folk that means spending public 
money and putting up the rates. They're too short- 
sighted to see that a healthy town pays best in the 
end. 

Walter (reasonably). Still, such things as rates 
have to be considered, I suppose. 

Ste. (hotly). Oh, yes. Consider the purses of the 
ratepayers and consider the health of the people and 



GRAFT. 17 

the danger of little children playing in the street and 
ask your religion which consideration weighs heaviest. 

Walter (a little warmly). Really, Mr. Verity, I 
needn't consult my religion. My common sense 
is sufficient to put me on your side — if you really are 
right in believing there can be two sides to such a 
question. 

Ste. Don't you make any doubt about that . 
There'll be two sides right enough. 

Walter. Well, can I do anything? Will you 
accept my help ? 

Ste. Yes, yours — and yours, Pilling, and every 
man's who'll say a word for us. 

(A motor horn heard violently below the window — 
a few masculine curses and feminine shrieks — 
which Sally echoes as she leaps to window and 
puts it up.) 

Sally. Dick's in the street. (She flies across 
from window and out at door.) 

Ste. (with the air of a conjuror). There you are ! 
Street accident. 

(Jim follows Sally, but is met at the door by a very 
irate taxi-cabman carrying Dick in one hand and 
by the slack of his trousers, followed by Sally. The 
Chauffeur is a Cockney, about thirty, clean shaven, 
with the usual oily pallid complexion — dark — with 
black leather leggings and a bottle green great-coat 
with red facings. His number is on an enamelled 
plate, which is reversed.) 

Jim (with more threat than anxiety) . Have you hurt 
him? 

Chauffeur. 'Urt ? Nah. Aw'm a hexpert droi- 
ver, aw am. 

(He puts Dick on his feet. Dick seeks refuge behind 
his mother's skirts and pulls at them with one hand, 
curiously watching the Chauffeur all the time. 

B 



18 GRAFT. 

Pilling takes jug from washstand r. and exit for 

water.) 

Pulled up in foive yard. Bet it ain't no bloomin' 
fault of 'is 'es not 'urt. 

Sally (threateningly). If you'd killed my boy I'd 
have 

Chauff. (interrupting). Cheese it, missus. 'E's 
only froightened. 

Dick. I'm not hurt, mother. 

Chauff. No, bet yer would be if yer got what yer 
bloomin' well arsked for. Yer came as near to it as 
bone is to flesh. 

(Sally sits on stool r, with Dick, examining his 
bruised knee.) 

Ste. (stepping forward pompously). Now then, 
my man 

Chauff. Aw'm not yer man. (To Sally.) Nah 
aw' give yer warning, missus, to look after 'im. 

(Jim returns with water, which he puts by Sally r. 
She washes the knee.) . 

Walter (quietly). Isn't it your business to look 
after the safety of pedestrians ? 

Chauff. (acknowledging the Church by a quieter 
reply). What roight 'ad 'e to be in the middle of the 
rowd? Ain't the poivement woide enough for'imto 
ply 'opscotch ? (He addresses Walter.) 

Jim (r). Look here, that's my kid, and if you've 
anything to say you can say it to me. 

Chauff. Aw've this to sy. Yer tell 'im to keep 
to the poivements. 'E moight 'ave bin in 'eaven nah 
if aw wasn't a hexpert droiver. There's more kids 
to the square foot in this tahn than any place aw've 
struck. People moike a fair 'obby of it. 

Ste. {importantly). You'd better be careful what 
you say. You'don't know who you're talking to. 

Chauff. (with infinite scorn). Fat lot aw care. 



GRAFT. 19 

Yer nothing but a crowd, of dead-aloive provincials. 
Don't suppose yer ever saw a taxi-keb till me and 
my mate come dahn from London. A 'ackney keb 
is news to yer in these parts. (Up to Stephen.) 

Ste. (boiling over). I'm an alderman of this town 
and if you don't talk to me respectfully I'll have your 
license cancelled. You're not fit to have one. 

Chauff. Ho ! Blimey, not fit to 'ave a license, 
ain't aw? Aw've druv a dook in my keb. And 
yer a tahn councillor, are yer ? Yus. Yer bloomin' 
well look it and aw can't say wuss than that. 

Ste. I'll pay you out for this. I'll report you to 
your employer. 

Chauff. (indignantly). Employer be blowed. 
Aw'm my own boss. Bought my keb, aw did. Thet's 
enterprise. Don't know what enterprise means 
dahn here, do yer ? 

Ste, What's your number ? I'll report you to 
.the police. (Goes to window and looks out.) 

Chauff. Yus, yer do. Aw'll tell yer where 'e is. 
On the 'Igh Street with a stopwatch in his fat hand, 
trying to cop me exceedin' the limit, and aw've never 
druv above ten moile for fear of the kids. 

(Jim goes up to door.) 

Ste. I demand to know your number. 

Chauff. (making sure that it is reversed). Never 
you moind my number. My name's Walker. Fair 
fed up with this tahn, aw am. Aw'm used to drivin' 
gentlemen. Aw druv a bally commercial abart all 
yesterday and the blighter tipped me tuppence. 

(Jim indicates door.) 

Yes. Aw'm going. My keb 'ull ca<rry me to 
London now (moves a bit towards door), and yer 
rowds reek of kids. Aw've killed none yet and aw 
don't want to. Aw reckon 'oss kebs are good enough 
for Carrington. P'raps they train 'em to step loightly 



20 GRAFT. 

on the kids or else they're funeral 'osses in their 
spare toime and never learn to go faster. 

Ste. (almost frenzied). You . . . insolent . . . 
Cockney . . . cad. 

Chauff. (crossing back to Stephen). Foine lan- 
guage from a tahn alderman with the Church lookin' 
on an' all. Aw am among the nobs. Abart toime 
aw cleared when a tahn 'as a bally hobject the loikes 
of you for an alderman. Aw wouldn't be seen droiv- 
ing yer not for a quid a moile and disinfectin' free. 

(Stephen looks pugnacious. Walter steps between 
them.) 

Walter. If you're going to London, Mr. Walker 
— I think you said Walker — hadn't you better go ? 

Chauff. (at door). Yus, andaw'll droive quick for 
once through Carrington and charnce it. The kids 
'ad better look aloive. (Looking back at Stephen.) 
Aw'll tell 'em when aw droive into the old garage in 
the Westminster Rowd abaht meetin' a real loive 
alderman. They'll be sending rand from Fleet 
Street to interview me abaht it. 

(Exit Chauffeur, leaving door open.) 

Jim (closing door — to Walter). I'm sorry you've 
been spoken to like that in my room, sir. Civil 
tongues don't cost nothing. 

Walter (smiling). That's a type of modern 
progress. The new man, Mr. Pilling. 

Jim. Then I'd as lief have the old. 

Ste. That's where you're wrong, Jim Pilling. 
This fellow's up-to-date. He'd never be content to 
let his children play in the streets. He'd 

Jim. No. He'd drive over them. 

Dick (who's been clutching Sally's skirts, staring). 
Boo hoo ! 

(Sally bends down.) 
Ste. (all ostentatious sympathy). What's to do ? 



GRAFT. 21 

Dick. My knee's hurting. (Holding it up.) 
I failed on it. 

Sally (examining it). It's only bruised. 

Jim (looking at the knee). Got any plaster ? 

Sally. I think so. (Opens drawer in the dresser 
and searches.) I ought to have. 

Jim (watches her). What's that ? 

Sally. That's no good. Corn plaster. There's 
Beecher's Pills and Wood's Sarsaperilla and every 
mortal thing except the one you want. 

Walter (reprovingly). Patent medicines, Mrs. 
Pilling. (Back to fire.) 

(Dick on stool, watching Sally.) 

Sally (justifying herself). They've all got the 
Government stamp, sir. 

Ste. (who has taken out a pocket book, eyeing Dick 
with what he thinks is benevolence). I generally have 
some plaster in my pocket. (But he looks in vain.) 
No, none there. Sorry, Mrs. Pilling. 

Sally. I'd better take him to the chemist's. 
(She gets a purse from the dresser.) 

Dick. Don't want no chemists. Want my supper. 

Sally. You'll have your supper when we get 
back. Come and see the man who lives behind the 
big red bottles. 

(Dick consents to go. Exeunt Sally and Dick.) 

Ste. (triumphantly). Anybody got anything to 
Bay against a recreation ground now. 

Walter. Neither of us ever had, I hope. 

Ste. You'd a lot to say about the rates. 

Jim. And I didn't see the use of pulling houses 
down to make room where houses are scarce. 

Ste. We shan't pull down many. 

Jim. It'll be a small ground then. (Sits R. of 
table.) 

Ste. (with quiet triumph). About ten acres. 



22 GRAFT. 

Jim. You'll have to pull down streets on streets 
to find ten acres. 

Ste. We shall pull down just five houses. (Sits 
L. of table.) No more and no less. 

Jim. Five houses ! 

Walter (startled) . Five, Mr. Verity ? 

Ste. (with bluster). Yes. Five houses, I said. 

Walter (puzzled). Then you must be thinking of 
— oh, but that's ridiculous. 

Ste. And why is it ridiculous, Mr. Montgomery ? 

Walter. The Polygon's the only place that 
applies to. 

Ste. Well, why shouldn't I be thinking of the 
Polygon ? 

Walter. Are you ? 

Ste. Yes. 

Walter. But the Polygon is 

Ste. (interrupting). I'll tell you what the Polygon 
is. 

Walter (quietly). It's my home, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. (with gusto). Yes, it's the home of the leisured 
and privileged class of Carrington. It's five big 
houses with a kind of a square of tennis lawn in the 
middle of them and a great big garden behind each. 
It's the only apology for a breathing space we have 
and it's bang in the middle of the town. You've 
got great gates to it marked " private " and a lodge 
keeper to watch 'em and see none of the common 
herd get in to soil your sacred air by breathing it in 
their vulgar lungs. It's a shame and a scandal for the 
land to be wasted on you and it's not going to be 
wasted much longer. 

Walter (without passion). To the people who 
live there, it's 

Ste. (interrupting). They're about twenty all told. 
Who are they to get in the way of the thousands 
that live crowded up like rabbits outside ? 

Walter. They happen to be able to afford it, 
Mr. Verity. 



GRAFT. 23 

Ste. (sarcastically). Yes. They're well-to-do, so 
they've the right to monopolize the air. 

Walter (mildly). Yes, yes. But you do put 
things so violently. 

Ste. (glancing at Jim for approval). I feel 'em 
violently. 

Walter (half apologetically). You must remem- 
ber this is quite a new idea to me, and for the moment 
it seems iconoclastic, if you don't mind my saying so. 

Ste. (sneering). Yes. Like all your class, you 
don't like new ideas. I'll say nothing about your 
Church, though that don't like new things either. 

(Jim rises.) 

Walter. If you'll only give me a moment to 
think, Mr. Verity. ... I'm trying my best to see the 
matter from your standpoint. Meantime, I don't 
know that you'll improve things by fulminating 
against the Church. 

Ste. (blustering). I shan't do myself any good by 
truckling to it, either. The Church was here before 
I was. It was here when Carrington was a little 
village and it's stood by and let the place grow into 
one huge slum. If we waited for the Church to give 
us a lead, we'd wait for all eternity. 

Walter (smiling). But you're not addressing 
the Church, you know. You're addressing a young 
and humble member of it. 

Ste. You're all tarred with the same brush. 

Walter. Not so black as our cloth, I hope. 
Some of us younger men try to be social reformers. 

Ste. Yes. It's all very pretty and romantic, but 
when it comes to anything that touches you per- 
sonally like this does you're as bad as the greediest 
tithe grabbing pluralist that ever robbed a starving 
farmer of his 

Jim (touching Stephen's arm). Mr. Verity, I'm a 
man that's slow to anger. But I've this to tell you. 
Mr. Montgomery's a clergyman • and you're saying 



24 GRAFT. 

things to him that aren't proper to be said and that 
I'll not have said in my room. (Shrewdly.) And 
you're not going the right way to get my vote for 
your recreation ground either. 

Ste. (alarmed). I apologize, Pilling. (Rises.) 

Jim (satisfied) . Ah ! 

Ste. (earnestly). It's the wrongs of your class. 
I think of others, Pilling. I see what the motorman 
saw — streets crowded with little children, growing up 
in the gutter, playing in the dust — I can't help it. 
My tongue runs away with me when I think of it all. 

Walter. Say no more, Mr. Verity. You're 
probably right about the Polygon. I dare say we 
are out of place there, but you couldn't expect me to 
take your view the moment it's sprung on me. 

Ste. (nodding). I've a way of calling a spade a 
spade. 

(A knock at the door. Jim opens it. A Man advances 
a foot into the room. Behind him is dimly seen a 
woman, both poorly dressed. The Man has a 
bundle tied up into a blue quilt on his shoulder ; 
his voice is tired and hopeless.) 

Man. Have you got any floor space to let in this 
room, mate ? 

Jim. No. (Trying to close the door. The Man's 
foot keeps it open.) 

Man. Don't shut the door in our face. I've got 
the money to pay for it. I'll give you a week's rent 
now. 

Jim. It's no use. I'm not letting. 

Man (pleading). I'm in work, mate. Start at 
Bamford's factory o' Monday. A corner's all as we 
want. 

Jim. I tell you I've none to let. 

Man. Don't be so hard on a fellow. I can't get in 
nowhere. 

Jim. You'll not get in here. 



GRAFT. 25 

Man (turning dejectedly). Lodging-houses full up 
and getting late an' all. We've been looking all day. 

Jim (closes the door). Get three or four of them a 
week. They find room somewhere in the end. 

Walter. What did he want ? Floor space ? 

(Stephen crosses l.) 

Jim. Aye. Lots of rooms about here with two 
or three families in 'em. Some one 'ull take them in 
if they look long enough. 

Walter. I know. It's appalling. 

Ste. And ten acres in the Polygon with only 
five houses on 'em. (Sits in armchair.) 

Walter. All the more reason to build houses 
there and not waste it in playing fields. 

Ste. Ah ! So it is wasted now ? 

Walter. Yes. It's wasted now. I'm going to 
do my best to help you. (Back to fire standing.) 

Ste. That's good news, any way. 

Walter. Don't count on me for much. But what 
I can do I will. I'm afraid I must go now. I've a 
call to make before I'm due at your house. 

Ste. Right. See you later. 

Walter (to Jim). Say good-night to Mrs. Pilling 
for me. (Crossing r.) 

(Jim opens the door as Walter goes out.) 

Good -night. 

Ste. (rubbing his hands together). Ah, glad I came. 
Good thing to rope in young Montgomery. 

Jim (sourly). Good, is it ? 

Ste. What else do you call it ? 

Jim (aggressively). Look here, Mr. Verity, you've 
been coming here calling yourself my friend. I knew 
well enough it was my vote you were after. Bless you, 
I don't mind. I know what even the real gentry 'ull 
do to get a man's vote. I've seen Sir Charles himself 



26. GRAFT. 

stand'by and watch his wife kiss our Dick at election 
time. But I've finished with you now. You'll come 
here no more after this. (Above table l.) 

Ste. (staggered). But ... I don't understand. 
What have I done ? (Rises.) 

Jim. It's not what you've done. It's what you're 
wanting to do. 

Ste. I'm wanting to provide a recreation ground 
for Dick to play in. Anything wrong in that ? 

Jim. A lot. There's more important things than 
playing fields. 

Ste. Oh, you're thinking of Montgomery's idea' 
for houses. 

Jim. No, I'm not thinking of anybody's ideas. 
Thinking of ideas leads to mischief. I'm thinking of 
my bread and butter that you're taking from me. 

Ste. I ? 

Jim. You know very well where I work. 

Ste. You're Mr. Vining's gardener, aren't you ? 

Jim. Yes, and Mr. Vining lives in, the Polygon. 
It's likely I'd vote for breaking up the Polygon, isn't 
it? 

Ste. But, my dear friend- 

Jim. I tell yon. I'm not your friend. 

Ste. Mr. Vining will have to live somewhere. 
He won't cease to require a gardener. 

Jim. Ever hear tell as a bird in the hand whacked 
two in the bush ? 

Ste. (scornfully). If you're afraid of losing your 
employment. 

Jim (with conviction). A working man's always 
afraid of that. I know what it's like to be out of a 
job. 

Ste. (ingratiatingly, after a slight pause). Well, 
now, I tell you what. 

Jim. Aye ? 

Ste. We shall want somebody to look after the 
grass in the recreation ground. 
Jim. Well ? 



GRAFT. 27 

Ste. The Park Committee will want an experi- 
enced gardener — like you. 

Jim. Are you offering me the job ? 

Ste. Yes. 

Jim. How do you know you'll be on any Park 
Committee ? You might be fired out of the Council 
next November. 

Ste. (with dignity). I'm an alderman, Pilling. 
Aldermen stay in, they don't get fired. 

Jim. You're offering me this. Well and good. 
And what about all the other folk as find work in 
the Polygon ? House servants and such like. 

Ste. The residents won't cease to want servants 
where they move to. 

Jim. And you can flit servants same as furniture, 
can't you ? And servants haven't votes and I have. 
So you bribe me and they can go to the devil. 

Ste. {backing in alarm). Mr. Pilling ! 

Jim. Oh, I'm not blind, if I was brought up in 
the country. They didn't learn me there to vote 
against my master, either. I take Mr. Vining's 
money and 

Ste. But man alive, how's he to know which way 
you vote ? The ballot's secret. 

Jim (sceptically). Oh, aye, we've heard that tale 
before. 

Ste. {irritated). But it is secret. 

Jim (unconvinced). That's what they tell you. 
And if it is, it's not secret from me. I'd know how I 
voted. And I couldn't hold out my hand for wages 
from a man when I'd voted opposite to him. I'm 
not built that way. 

Ste. (disgustedly). Jim Pilling, I thought you'd 
more sense. 

Jim. I've a sense of right and wrong. 

Ste. Yes, the sense that your employer's always 
right. 

Jim. It makes no matter if he's right or wrong. 
He's still my employer. A man can't vote against 



28 GRAFT. 

the gentleman that gives him bread and butter, and 
Mr. Vining's a real gentleman, mind you. (With 
-enthusiastic admiration). I never saw him raise his 
hand to do a thing himself yet. 

Ste. You're a fool, Pilling. 

Jim. I'm an honest fool, then. 

Ste. Look here, if you won't take it from me, 
will you take it from Mr. Montgomery ? 

Jim. I don't know. He's a young 'un. More 
like a man than a parson. Coming in here and 
smoking his pipe like you might do yourself. 

Ste. But he is a parson — young Montgomery. 

Jim (grudgingly). Aye. He's a man I trust. 

Ste. Then if he tells you, will you vote for turning 
the Polygon into a playing ground ? 

Jim (confidently). He won't. 

Ste. But if he does ? 

Jim. I'll see. 

(Re-enter Sally and Dick.) 

Ste. Hullo ! Patched the little man up ? 
Sally. Yes. 

(Dick exhibits a black plaster about his knee.) 

Ste. I'll get out of your way, Mrs. Pilling. I've 
an appointment to keep at home. Good-night. 
(Crosses below table to door.) 

Jim. JGood-mght. 

Ste. (turning at door, patting Dick's head). Good- 
night, Dick. 

(Dick doesn't respond. Exit Stephen.) 

Sally. Good riddance and all. Now, Dick, you 
ought to have been in bed long ago. (Takes Dick 
up to bed.) 

Dick. Can't I come and watch you wash up ? 

Sally. No, you can't. (She begins to undress 
him.) 



GRAFT. 



29 



Dick. I want my supper. 

Sally. You can have it in bed. 

Jim. You don't like Verity, lass ? 

Sally. And never did. What's he want with 
bothering round week after week? We're not his 
class. 

Jim. Vote's what he's after, and it's a marvel to 
me what they will do for votes. 

Sally. You'll do yourself no good with him, Jim. 

Jim. I'm thinking so myself. He's a bit too keen 
on this recreation ground, Verity is. Been putting 
himself about something extraordinary. (Crosses 
to fireplace, taking pipe.) I fancy, you know, there's, 
something behind all this. 

(The undressing of Dick 
Curtain. 



ACT II. 

Stephen Verity's dining-room the same evening. 
The room has doors right and left. Window with 
drawn blind, r. Large table centre with chairs. Fire- 
place left. Solid-looking sideboard back centre. 
The furniture is solid, old-fashioned, and the atmo- 
sphere of the room is one of heavy comfort without 
ostentation. The room is a small one. No books 
anywhere. In an armchair before the fire is Stephen 
Verity. Walter Montgomery faces him in a 
highbacked chair. Stephen is smoking a large, 
well coloured briar. 

Stephen (removing the pipe). So you think you're 
good enough to marry my daughter, do you ? 

Walter. I ventured to think so. 

Ste. Why ? 

Walter. Because I love her, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. That the only reason ? 

Walter. No. 

Ste. What are the others ? 

Walter. She loves me. 

Ste. Did she tell you so ? 

Walter. Yes. 

Ste. Um ! (Slight pause ; he smokes reflectively.) 
That all? 

Walter (rather startled). All what ? 

Ste. All your reasons. 

Walter. Yes, I think so. 

Ste. They're too few. 

Walter. But 



GRAFT. 31 

Ste. I'll ask you something. 

Walter. Yes ? 

Ste. What do you want to get married for ? 

Walter. I'm in love. 

Ste. That's no reason. You curates, you're all 
alike — must be with marrying other folk so much. 
Infectious, I reckon. Church ought to be scheduled 
along with the other dangerous trades. 

Walter. You're laughing at me. 

Ste. No, I'm not. Marriage isn't a laughing 
matter, I know. 

Walter. Won't you give me your answer, Mr. 
Verity ? 

Ste. Yes. (He rises, knocks at his pipe in the 
grate, puts it on the mantelpiece and goes himself to the 
door left. His deliberate movements cause Walter 
an agony, of which Stephen is quite aware. Stephen 
opens the door and calls.) Lucy ! 

Lucy (off l.). Yes. 

Ste. Come in here. (He leaves the door open and 
goes below door. Enter Lucy Verity. She is twenty- 
one, pretty, dressed in a skirt and blouse, pointing 
to a very modest dress allowance. Her hair is plainly 
dressed. Obviously her father is her master, but she 
is not without indications of a will of her own. Walter 
rises as she enters.) Here's a friend of yours. Tells 
me he wants to marry you. 

(Lucy crosses r. of table.) 

Lucy (anxiously). Yes, father. 

Ste. It's true, then ? (Motions her to sit.) 

Lucy. Yes. (Sits r. of table.) 

Ste. Well, listen to me. He's a curate. Curates 
always marry young and have enormous families on 
no income. (Walter makes an attempt to protest ; 
Stephen proceeds unmoved.) I advise you not to 
marry him. If he wants a wife, he'll not go begging 
one for long. There's always crowds of silly girls 
ready to help a chap to button his collar behind. 



32 GRAFT. 

Walter. Mr. Verity, this isn't a joke to us. 

Ste. I don't know that losing Lucy 'ud be a joke 
to me. 

Walter! I can very well believe that. But 
it's a thing that's bound to come to you sooner or 
later. 

Ste. You're making a mistake. It isn't bound 
to come at all. My daughter's no need to find a 
man to keep her. She's a head on her shoulders and 
sense enough to know when she's well off. Who's 
going to look after my house if Lucy marries ? Tell 
me that, young man. 

Walter. I really haven't thought about it, Mr. 
Verity. 

Ste. And I'm not going to. 

Walter. There' d be plenty of time to consider 
that. We're not proposing to get married to-morrow. 

Ste. 'Urn. Very good of you. Want a long 
engagement, eh ? 

Walter. Moderately. 

Ste. And hope I'll be dead and out of your way 
first ? (Sitting behind table c.) 

Lucy. Father ! 
m Ste. You hold your tongue. I'll get you to talk 
in a minute. (To Walter.) What do you want 
to wait for"? 

Walter. I'm hoping to get a living before long. 

Ste. So you have proposed on nothing a year. 
I thought as much. 

Walter (with excessive dignity). I'm not without 
money, sir. I could afford to marry at once. 

Ste. Could you now ? And what might you 
call being not without money ? 

Walter. I've £150 a year. 

Ste. You plutocrat ! Lucy, do you hear that ? 
He's £150 a year. Nice sort of marrying income, that 
is. Oh, but perhaps I'm wronging you. What's 
your father going to do for you when you marry ?. 

Walter. I don't know. I haven't asked him. 



GRAFT. 33 

Ste. Well, give a guess at it. 
Walter. Nothing, probably. He gave me an 
expensive education. 

Ste. Then he made a bad investment if it's only 
worth £150 a year to you to-day. I had no education 
and I'm worth — well, never mind. Lucy, tell him 
what I've been telling you to-night. 
Lucy. What you told me ? 

Ste. Don't repeat my words like a fool. Go on. 
You've got your chance of talking now. 

Lucy. But 

Ste. So like a woman to be backward at tongue- 
wagging, isn't it ? 

Lucy (as if repeating a lesson). You told me that 
mother left me money which you've increased by 
investment till it's now capable of yielding £1,000 a 
year, and since my twenty-first birthday a week ago 
the money lies to my credit at the bank. 

Ste. That's right. Now, my gallant £3 a weeker, 
what have you got to say to that ? 
Walter. Of course I didn't know, 
Ste. No. I'll gamble you didn't. You fancied 
I lived in a small house because I couldn't afford a 
big 'un. That's a regular Polygon notion. You're 
used to their way of living up to your income and as 
much beyond as you've pluck for. WheTi a man's 
worked as hard as I have he don't spend as fast as 
he earns. He sticks to what he's got. 

Walter. I knew you were a successful man, 
sir. 

Ste. I've made my way. I began low and I'm 
no class now, bar what they think of me at the bank 
— and that's a fat lot more than they think of any 
fine Polygon gentlemen. Would you like to know 
where Lucy's bit comes from ? 

Walter. Really, I'm 

Ste. Her grandfather kept the Black Bull. 
That's where it was made, except what I've added 
to it. Stinks of beer, that money does. Pubs were 

c 



34 GRAFT. 

a good thing in his time for a landlord that kept 
off the drink. 

Walter. I've no doubt it was honestly made. 

Ste. Aye, ye would think that now you fancy 
your chance of fingering it. It was made in the 
way of business same as my own was, and that means 
the best man won and he hadn't time to stand still 
and think about honesty. Too busy downing the 
other fellow for that. And now you've got it. That's 
me, sir, builder and contractor, and married a publi- 
can's daughter. Feeling as keen set on Lucy as you 



were 



? 



Walter. I don't believe very much in artificial 
class distinctions, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. Don't you ? Not in your business hours, 
you mean. Not so leng as you remember you're z 
parson. 

Lucy. Father ! (Rises.) 

Ste. Well, what's the matter with you ? Do you 
want to many him ? 

Lucy. Yes. 

Ste. You're a fool. You've £1,000 a year. 
You're an heiress. He's a pauper. 

Walter. I'm not a pauper, but I quite agree. 
From, the worldly point of view 

Ste. It's the only view I care about. (To Lucy.) 
With your money you can look high. 

Lucy. Thanks, father. When I want to buy a 
husband, I'll let you knew. I'm thinking of marry- 
ing one at present. 

Ste. (immensely surprised). Hullo! Showing spirit, 
are you ? (Rises.) 

Lucy. It's the first time, if I am. 

Ste. And it had better be the last, if you don't 
want to quarrel. I'm not one of these weak-kneed 
modern fathers that let themselves be browbeaten 
by their own children. Perhaps you think you'll 
get him whether I consent or not? 

Lucy. I hope you will consent. (Pause.) 



GRAFT. 35 

Ste. I'm not fond of curates, Lucy- It's a soft 
job, and. a real man looks for a fighting chance in life. 

Walter. I get plenty of fighting to do, Mr. 
Verity. 

Ste. Who do you fight with ? 

Walter. Evil, in every shape and form. 

Ste. 'Urn, the devil's game for a few rounds yet. 

Walter. He's an old hand, and if we haven't 
knocked him out we're weakening his defence. 

Ste. Well, I'll give you a chance of showing it. 

Walter. In a good cause, I hope. 

Ste. The cause is all right. You're a parson. 
Got the good of the poor at heart and all that sort 
of thing ? 

Walter. I hope so. 

Ste. Yes. (Briskly.) Well now. about Luc}/. 

Walter. Is that the fight ? 

Ste. I'm coming to the fight. Yo'u say you love 
her. 

Walter. I do. (Stephen is between them.) 

Ste. (to Lucy). You love him? 

Lucy. Yes. (Lucy r., Stephen c, Walter l.) 

Ste. (holding up his hands evenly). Quits so far. 
Income on the male side £150 a year. (Surveys his 
right hand.) Income on the female side £1,606. 
(Depressing his left hand as if weighing the incomes 
in scales.) Hullo ! wo ! something wrong there. 
Doesn't balance. 

W T alter (bitterly). Do you think I don't know it ? 

Ste. (dropping his hands). Yes. You've hooked 
your fish, my boy. But you're a long way off landing 
her yet. 

Walter. Tell me what you want me to do. 

Ste. (curtly). Earn her. 

Walter. Yes, but how ? (Steps forward.) 

Ste. By fighting. By doing something for the 
good of the town. There's this proposal to buy up 
the Polygon. 

'Walter (eagerly). Yes ? 



36 GRAFT. 

Ste. Well, now you know what you've to do. 
You know wha^t Polygon people are and you know 
what the town needs. 

Walter. The town needs space and decent 
houses. 

Ste. That's what you've to rub into your Polygon 
set, and you'll not find 'em seeing it so easy. 

Walter. You can't blame them if they don't 
exactly welcome the idea of turning out and making 
■ fresh homes in their old age. It's only natural. 

Ste. Oh, I'm not afraid of them. They'll not 
stop us. All you've to do is to make them see they're 
an obstacle to progress in this town. They're bound 
to see justice if they are narrow and selfish and too 
puffed up with pride to know the townspeople and — • — 

Walter, And they're my father and my friends, 
Mr. Verity. 

Ste. Yes, I knew you only disbelieved in class 
distinctions during business hours. Scratch the 
curate and find the hypocrite. 

Walter (keeping his temper smilingly). As bad as 
all that ? 

Ste. The moment I attack your class you're up in 
aims to defend 'em. 

Walter. No. They take up too much room in 
the Polygon. I never said they didn't. But they'll 
not want to go. And surely the whole thing depends 
on Sir Charles' readiness to sell. 

Ste. Yes, but a willing Polygon will make a lot of 
difference, and if you want Lucy as bad as you say, 
here's your way to help yourself to her. 

Walter. I don't see what Lucy has to do with it. 

Ste. Don't you ? 

Walter. WeJl, do you ? The town proposes to 
buy the Polygon for the people. It's an excellent 
project and my plain duty is to further it. I shan't 
fail in my duty merely because of the unpleasant 
unheaval in the lives of a few people who happen to be 
dear to me. 



GRAFT. 37 

Ste. Oh ! Well, I don't want words, I want 
deeds. Succeed and I'll think about calling you son- 
in-law — if Lucy doesn't change her mind meantime. 
Walter. I can't see why you insist on making a 
kind of bribe of Lucy when there's only one course 
open to me in any case. 

Ste. (grimly). I'm making sure of things. 

Lucy. Father, you don't doubt 

Ste. I always doubt an untried man. I doubt 
if he'll have the pluck to face old Vining in the Poly- 
gon — I doubt lots of things. Put it that I'm giving 
him some Dutch courage to stiffen his back. 

Walter (desperately). I don't want Dutch cour- 
age. Is there any way of convincing you that I 
mean what I say ? 

Ste. There's going and doing it. 

Walter. Very well, I will. (Moving as if to go.) 

Ste. (stopping kirn). Remember, you're not en- 
gaged to Lucy yet. 

Walter. I understand. (Crosses r.) 

Ste. That'll do, then. You know what you've 
to do. Good-night. 

Walter. Yes. Good-night, Mr. Verity. 

(Lucy moves towards right door.) 

Ste. (to Lucy). You stay where you are. Say 
good-night to him while I've got my eye on you. 
He can find the front door without your help. 

(Lucy and Walter shake hands, r.) 

Walter. Good-night. 

(Exit Walter, r. A slight pause. Stephen eyes 
Lucy from head to foot before speaking. Lucy 
crosses and sits l. of table.) 

Ste. (before fire, judicially). It strikes me pretty 
forcibly I've brought a fool into the world. (Sharply.) 
How long's this been going on behind my back ? 

Lucy (with an air of standing up to him) . Nothing's 



38 , GRAFT. 

gone on behind. your back. I told Walter at once he 
must speak to you. 

'i$TE. UmpbJ If you'd told me you wanted help 
to send him about his business there' d have been some 
sense. in it. . E>ut you backed him up. You showed 
fight. You're getting proud, my girl. . ; 
Lucy. t , I've grown up, father. 
'.§jte p , Qi;own up, have you? All right. If. you 
fancy you're too old to come to me for advice you 
can do without. 

Lucy. You know I want your advice. 
Ste. So as you can do opposite, eh ? 
'.Lucy. Oh, that's unjust, father. I never dis- 
obeyed you in my life. 

. Ste, And ycu'd better not begin now, or you and 
I will fall" out. Ha ! So you're grown up, are you ? 
Yes, you've been a legal woman for. a week. Only 
I've been a legal man for thirty years and you'll 
allow I. know the world better than you. 
• Lucy. Of course. 

Ste. Oh, you do agree to that, do you ? 
, Lucy. Certainly. 

Sie. Well, I tell you you'll be throwing yourself 
away on young Montgomery. {Persuasively.) He's 
not up to your weight, Lucy. Polygon type, he is. 
You know, shove all your goods in the shop vyindow. 
Live in a big house for swank and get it dirt cheap 
because the neighbourhood's gone down. They're 
not solid. Lucy, you and I together could buy up the 
whole, crowd of swells to-morrow. 
. Lucy. I fell in love with Walter before I knew I'd 
a ptnny piece in the world. I don't think' my money 
must make any difference. 

Sie. Een't te silly. Mcney makes all differ- 
ences. . We're all coin without pockets. It's pockets 
or no pockets that makes us rich or poor. Yesterday 
ycu didn't know you'd a pocket and. the Polygon 
Icckecl big and young Montgomery, he looked big. 
I don't blame you. It looked a good thing. 



GRAFT. 39 

Lucy. looks It the same to-day as it did yesterday. >; 

Ste. Women are fools over money. I did think 
you'd more sense. (Dogmatically.) Money should, 
marry money. (With rising irritation.) It's all mv 
eye to talk of throwing away your money on a penm-^ 
less curate. 

Lucy (rises). I'm sorry to disagree.^ Obedience 
has its limits. I hope we shan't quarrel, father, but 
I'm a free woman now and I warn you — oh, I'm 
sorry. 

Ste. Sorry, are you ? I'm a hard man, Lucy. 
I'm a masterful man. I know that. But I'm a 
soft-hearted fool where you're concerned, or I'd let 
vou marry the curate and suffer the consequences. 
But I've got ambitions for you if you've none for 
yourself, (r.c.) When you marry there's two things 
for it— money or birth — and you'll not find either in 
Polygon. They're a bad imitation of the real thing 
— about as near as the shoddy Bamford makes it to 
honest broadcloth. Not one of them with a handle 
to his name. (Crosses to Lucy.) If you must get 
married, I'll find you a husband. Leave it to me. 
And don't be in such a hurry to leave your old dad 
if you are a free woman. 

Lucy (quietly). I'm marrying Walter Montgomery, 
father ; but we're not in any hurry. 

Ste. Going to be obstinate, are you ? All right, 
We'll see who'll win. 

Lucy. You've already given a conditional consent. 

Ste. Don't you worry about that. He may help 
to keep the Polygon set quiet till I've put the business 
through. 

(Puts ink on table from sideboard.) 

Lucy. You'd use him and then throw him over 
afterwards. Father, you don't mean that ! 

Ste. What do you know about business ? I'd 
use the devil himself if I thought he'd smooth my 
way to a bit of money. 



40 GRAFT. 

Lucy. But this isn't money, is it ? It's for the 
town. 

StE. Oh, yes, of course, it's the town. 
Lucy. Then you'd 

(Janet, the maid, opens the door right to Stephen's 
obvious relief.) 

Janet. Mr. ' Bamford, Mr. Alcorn. 
Ste. Ah, that's what I'm waiting for. Don't 
go beyond call, Lucy. I'll be wanting you soon. 

(Exit Lucy l.) 

(Enter, r., Bamford and Alcorn.) 

(Samuel Bamford is a wealthy shoddy manufacturer. 
He is a bachelor of forty, a bon viveur and a sports- 
man. His shrewd ruddy face shows above a white 
four-in-hand scarf, controlled by a horseshoe gold 
pin. He is well covered with flesh, but not yet as 
gross as he probably will be in a few years. His 
clothes are slightly sportsmanlike in cut and he 
wears spats. A noticeably heavy gold chain crosses 
his stomach. Nathaniel Alcorn is tall, spare 
and dark. His face is yellowish, with a drooping 
moustache. He wears a frock coat, * and his prosperity, 
though evident, is less ostentatious than Bamford's.) 

Ste. Good-evening, gentlemen. (To Janet.) 
Send Mr. Smithson up when he comes. No one else. 
Janet. Yes, sir. (Exit Janet.) 
Alcorn (briskly). Evening, Verity. 

(Bamford nods bluffly at Stephen.) 

Ste. Sit down. Any news ? 

(Stephen sits c. above table, Bamford r. and 
Alcorn l. of table.) 

Alcorn (producing letter from his pocket). Yes, 
my brother's sent this on. (Hands letter to Stephen.) 
From Sir Charles' a^ent. He's abroad, Sir Charles. 



GRAFT. 41 

Bamford. Yes, confound him. How dare he be 
abroad when we want him ? 

(Stephen reads the letter.) 

Ste. (looking up). Dodging duns. (To Bamford.) 
You've seen this ? 

Bamford (gloomily). Yes. 

Alcorn (equally gloomily). It's not encouraging. 

Ste. (returning the letter to Alcorn). What isn't 
encouraging ? 

Alcorn. Why., this. {Reading the letter) "Speak- 
ing for myself alone, I consider it extremely im- 
probable that Sir Charles will consent to a sale of the 
Polygon to your company." (Leaves letter on the 
table.) 

Ste. There's nothing to be afraid of there. 

Alcorn. I don't know so much tbout that. These 
land owning fellows know they're no good at business. 
They leave it to their agents, and if the agent writes 
like that, you can take it he knows. 

Ste. He knows all right. Sir Charles isn't a busi- 
ness man, but his agent is. If there's a chance of 
selling, that agent wants a top price ; naturally he 
writes that way to bluff us into raising our offer. 

Bamford. You've a head on your shoulders, 
Verity. 

Ste. (to Bamford). It all depends on what you 
told us. If your information's correct, they'll be 
only too glad to sell. 

Alcorn. Yes. It's you that told us Sir Charles 
is in low water. 

Bamford. He's dropped a pot of money lately. 
It's a well known fact. I know one bookie that's 
taken ten thousand off him in the season, and he's 
not the only one. 

Alcorn (sanctimoniously). Deplorable wastrel. 

Ste. Eh ? Oh, aye ! (Ironically.) Lamentable 
prodigality. Shocking extravagance, isn't it, Alcorn ? 



42 GRAFT. 

But it suits our book. The faster he goes the pace the 
better for us, so you might as well be decently grate- 
ful instead of getting mealy mouthed over it. 

Bamford. Me and Alcorn were arguing coming 
along here what's to be done with the land. 

Alcorn. Aye, but as I told him, the first thing is 
to get possession of the land. 

Ste. Now, don't you worry about that, Alcorn. 
The land's as good as ours at our own price. Sir 
Charles 'ull jump at it. 

Bamford. Well, I'm for building on it. 

Alcorn. And I'm not so sure. 

Bamford. Of course you're on my side, Verity ? 

Ste. Your side ? 

Bamford. For building. 

Ste. No. 

Bamford. What, and you a builder ! 

Ste. I've finished building now. I'm getting old. 
I've made my money. 

Alcorn. I'm out for making an open space of it. 

Bamford. You're a blooming philanthropist. 

Ste. No, he's not. It's a pity you missed our 
last meeting. You don't grasp the idea yet. We 
buy the land from Sir Charles. 

Bamford. Yes. 

Ste. Then we create a demand in the town for a 
recreation ground. 

Alcorn. And you back it up in the Council. 

Ste. And Alcorn as borough surveyor approves 
officially. 

Alcorn. We force the town to buy from us. 

Ste. And get a quick return of our capital with a 
clinking profit. 

Bamford (obstinately), Well, I thought it was 
houses. Houses are safe, and you'd easier raise a cry 
for houses than playing fields. 

Ste. Depends how you go about it. Work it 
proper and you could get them yelling like kids for a 
municipal service of flying machines. 



Alcorn, 
Bamford. 



GRAFT. 43 

(Enter Smithson, r.) 
Smithson. Good evening, gentlemen all. 
(Stephen grunts and rises.) 

[Good evening. 

(Stephen gives Smithson his chair , and takes the 
vacant one r. c. of table.) 

Smiths. Sorry I'm late, but I've been employing 
my time well. Sowing the seed. 
Ste. Been getting at the voters ? 

(Smithson sits between Alcorn and Stephen.) 

Smiths. Yes, one or two. 

Ste. You've been wasting time. I've collared 
a man who'll bring in voters by the score. 

Alcorn. Who might that be, Mr. Verity ? 

Ste. Young Montgomery. The parson lad. For 
all their talk, the Church still has a big hold on the 
poorer classes. It'll pay to have that boy on our 
side. He'll talk to them in the Polygon, too. 

Bamford. Aye. Good man, that, Verity. 

Ste. (to Smithson). There's a letter you'd better 
read. 

(Smithson reads it.) 

Bamford (sullenly ; emerging from a silent sulk). 
I thought it was houses. 

Ste. Well, it isn't. It 'ud take too much capital to 
cover the Polygon with houses. 

Bamford. It was houses. You've altered it. 
I ought to have been told. No one told me. 

Smiths, (looking up from the letter). He'll come 
round. 

Ste. Yes. 

Bamford (taking it personally ; indignantly). Who'll 
come round ? I won't come round. Houses it was 
and houses it's going to be. 



44 GRAFT. 

Ste. (moving Smithson to give Alcorn the letter. 
Alcorn pockets it. Dryly.) We spoke of Sir Charles . 

Bamford. Oh ! 

Smiths, (tentatively). I fancy, myself, houses 
would be a safer battle-cry with the people, Mr. 
Verity. 

Ste. Damn the people. Who cares for the 
people ? 

Alcorn (rising). I really must protest. Such 
language! (He seems genuinely shocked.) 

Ste. (impatiently). It's so silly to talk as if the 
people mattered. Government by the people ! 
Any fool can lead 'em where he wants. , 

Alcorn (sitting). We must consider their feelings 
a bit. Think of the rates. 

Ste. Oh, we'll consider their feelings all right. We 
must make 'em feel what we want 'em to feel. 
Then they'll vote for what we want and kid them- 
selves we do it for their sake. That's how to con- 
sider their feelings. When I was a lad there was 
a trout stream ran through Carrington. It's a 
sewer now, but there were trout in it then and I've 
caught 'em by tickling their bellies. That's the way 
to catch voters, Mr. Alcorn. Tickle 'em. 

Alcorn. Yes, but the trout died. The voter 
lives to vote next time. 

Ste. Go on tickling. I'm an old hand and I've 
never known it fail. 

Bamford. You're not attending to me. I say 
houses. Smithson says houses. 

Smiths, (in alarm). Oh, no, I don't. Indeed I 
don't. I only say nouses 'ull bring votes quicker 
than playing fields. 

Alcorn. I suppose you couldn't shout houses 
and make it the other thing afterwards ? 

Smiths. I'm surprised at you, Mr. Alcorn. (Very 
righteously.) I stand for purity in municipal life. 

Bamford. Yes. Always be honest with your 
electors. 



GRAFT. 45 

Ste. Alcorn's got none. He's a permanent offi- 
cial with a certain job, or he'd know better. 

Bamford. If I provide a quarter of the capital, 
I've a right 

Ste. You've every right, Mr. Bamford, and we 
shall do nothing without your approval. 

Bamford. Then I approve houses. As a rate- 
payer 

Ste. (definitely). Only, if it's houses, I can't go on. 
(Consternation.) 

Smiths, (frightened). We can't do without your 
influence. 

Bamford (grudgingly). No, we can't do without 
Verity. 

Ste. Our share of what 'ull go on the rates is a 
flea bite. Our profit 'ull cover it a hundred times. 
I don't deny the town needs houses, needs 'em 
badly, only I haven't the capital for houses. My 
money's tied up and I'm not touching it. The money 
I'm putting into this isn't my own. 

(Alcorn writes on a scrap of paper and passes it to 
Smithson, who reads, nods, and passes it to Stephen.) 

Bamford. Who's is it, if it's a fair question ? 

Ste. My daughter's. I'll want it back quick. 

Alcorn. Your daughter's got money, then ? 

Bamford (very interested). Your daughter's ? 
Nice looking girl, your daughter. (Slight pause.) 

Well, I'm using my own money and (Irritably.) 

What's that you're passing round ? Another secret 
from me ? 

Ste. (blandly). No. (Passing him the paper.) 

Bamford (reading). "Make Bamford Mayor next 
year." (He looks up at each in turn.) Um. Well. 
Bamford's willing. 

Alcorn. I think it's very suitable. 

Ste. Yes. We'll call it a recreation ground, eh, 
Mr. Mayor Elect ? 



46 GRAFT. 

Bamford. I'm not a favourite with the psalm- 
singing set, you know. 

Alcorn. I've got them in my pocket. They'll.be 
squared all right. 

Ste. If I say mayor, you'll be mayor. You make 
a bit on the mayoral allowance, you know. Needn't 
spend above half of it. 

Bamford. All right. No need to say more. It's 
a recreation ground and damn the expense. (The 
tension passes.) 

Ste. Right. Got those papers with you, Alcorn ? 

Alcorn. Yes. (Fussily producing and smoothing 
the typewritten articles of association.) 

Ste. Your signature's wanted, Bamford. 

Bamford (examining the paper). Land Develop- 
ment Syndicate, Ltd. Sounds well, anyhow. Hullo ! 
What's this ? Registered Offices, London Wall, E.C. 

Alcorn. My brother's office in London. 

Bamford. Why ? 

Ste. Wouldn't do to have a local address here. 
Some busybody 'ud smell it out. 

Bamford. I see. (Suspiciously.) What does 
his brother get out of it ? 

Alcorn. Nothing ; and he's put down three of his 
clerks for one share apiece to make up the statutory 
seven shareholders. Those are their signatures above 
Smithson's and mine. 

(Bamford nods.) 

Ste. (dipping pen). There's a pen. 

(Bx^mford signs.) 

I'll witness. (Calling off l.) Lucy ! 

Bamford. I deliver this as my act and deed. 

.(Stephen signs without sitting. Enter Lucy, l. 
All rise.) 

Lucy. Did you call, father ? 



GRAFT. 47 

Alcorn (advancing and speaking with the respect 
due to a capitalist). Good evening, Miss Verity. 

Ste. {stepping back, and interposing impatiently). 
Oh, never mind all that ; sit down, Lucy. (Pushing 
her into his vacated chair and pointing to the papers, 
handing pen.) Write your name there. 

Lucy (vaguely). My name ? 

Ste. Yes. Can't you hear ? See what it is ? 

Lucy. No. 

(Bamford's eyes are set on Lucy with the air of a 
butcher appraising a sheep.) 

Ste. (impatiently). Oh, never mind. It ' ud 
take a week to make you understand. You've some 
money lying at the bank. Mine's all tied up. I 
want yours for a bit, so just sign your name there. 
(Lucy signs.) Say " I deliver this as my act and 
deed." 

Lucy. I deliver this as my act and deed. (To 
Stephen.) It's your deed really, you know. 

Ste. I'll witness. (Signs.) Right. 

Lucy (reading). The Land Development Syn- 
dicate, Ltd. 

(Stephen takes the paper from under her eyes, folds 
and hands it to Alcorn.) 

Ste. You'll see to that, now ? 

Alcorn. Yes. You're our partner, Miss Verity. 

Lucy (standing). But what's it all about ? 

Smiths. That's right, Miss Verity. Sign first and 
ask afterwards. 

Bamford. We're buying up the Polygon. Go ing 
to make a playing field of it. 

(Bamford down r.) 

Lucy. And presenting it to the town ? 

(Stephen alone doesn't look awkward.) 

Alcorn. Well 



48 GRAJBX 

Ste. (curtly). Yes, it 'ull come to the towB. 

Lucy (sentimentally). How noble of you !' Oh, 
thank you ! Thank you so much for letting me take 
a share in this 

Ste. (interrupting). Yes; now you go and have 
your supper. It's getting late. 

(Exit Lucy, l.) 

Ste. Well, that concludes the business for to- 
night, gentlemen. Nothing more to be done till 
we hear from Sir Charles. (Puts chair back up stage.) 

Alcorn. No, that's all. 

Ste. (finally). Good night, then. 

Alcorn. Good night, Verity. (Crosses r.) 

Smiths. Good night. (Shakes hands and crosses 

R.) 

(Smithson opens the door r. Alcorn follows him,, 
pausing and looking back at Bamford.) 

Alcorn. Coming, Bamford ? 
Bamford. No, I want a word with Verity. 
Smiths, (suspiciously). Business, eh, Mr. Bamford ? 
Bamford. Not about the Company. (Glancing 
involuntarily after Lucy.) .Something else. 

(Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn.) 

Ste. Well, Bamford ? Have anything ? I've a 
better port downstairs than the Polygon toffs can 
run to. 

Bamford. No, thanks. 

(Stephen looks relieved, Bamford sits. Their posi- 
tions reproduce those of Stephen and Walter at 
the opening.) 

Ste. (taking his pipe from the mantelpiece). I'l 
have a pipe, if you don't mind. Well, what's up with 
you ? 

Bamford (jerking his thumb towards the left door) . 
It's about her. - 



GRAFT. 49 

Ste. Aye ? Well, I like a man that comes to the 
point sharp. 

Bamford. Perhaps you wouldn't call me a marry- 
ing man ? (Sitting below fire.) 

Ste. You've not done it yet that I know of. 

Bamford. Never too late to mend. I'm a bit 
struck with that daughter of yours, Verity. 

Ste. I noticed you were when I mentioned she 
had money. 

Bamford. Well, I'm the last man to deny that 
money's a very important thing in life. 

Ste. It's a useful thing to have about the house. 

Bamford. I was thinking we might come to an 
arrangement. 

Ste. It's not impossible.. 

Bamford. Eh ! 

Ste. Only she's a bit young. 

Bamford. Meaning to say I'm a bit old, eh ? 
I'm sound and hearty. 

Ste. So's t'other fellow, and more her age. 

Bamford (rising) . The other fellow ? 

Ste. (remaining seated). Aye. You thought you 
were being smart, didn't you ? Seeing a good thing 
and dashing at it prompt ; but you're the second man 
to come to me to-night over Lucy, for all that. 

Bamford (anxiously). Is she promised ? 

Ste. No. 

Bamford (relieved). Ah ! 

Ste. The man that weds my daughter takes a 
tidy bit of money with her. 

Bamford. It'll find some more of its own kidney 
if she brings it to me. 

Ste. To tell you the truth, Sam, I'm not struck 
on the idea of losing her at all. But she's got a fancy 
in her head and it's one I don't cotton to. Best cure 
might be to put you there instead and be sure of her 
not making a fool of herself. 

Bamford. Then I'm not too late. (Sits again.) 

Ste. You're the best man up to now. 

D 



.30 GRAFT. 

Bamford. Well 

Ste. See here, Sam. It's like this. That girl 
can look high. Question is, are you high enough ? 

Bamford. Which way? 

Ste. Money. 

Bamford. Depends what you call high. 

Ste. Yes . . . (half apologetically.) I've a right 
to know before I put it to her. 

Bamford (after slight hesitation). Well, I'll tell 
you this : you know What my father left ? 

Ste. Yes. 

Bamford. There's more to-day. (They exchange 
looks.) 

Ste. (rising with resolution). That 'ull do. (Opens 
left door.) Lucy, come' back a minute. 

Bamford (rises in alarm). I'm not what you call 
a parlour ladies' man. 

Ste. I'll stand by you. 

(Enter Lucy.) 

Now then. (Crosses r.) 

Lucy. You want me ? 

Ste. (indicating Bamford). He does. 

Bamford (awkwardly). Yes, I do, Miss Verity. 
That's just what I do. I want you. 

(Lucy is puzzled.) 

Ste. (looking at her). Well ? 

Lucy (turning from one to the other). You want me. 
I'm here. What do you want me for ? 

Bamford (l.). For better or for worse. (Giggling 
genially.) 

Lucy (freezing). I don't understand you. 

Ste. (roughly). Don't play stupid now. You 
understand him well enough. 

Lucy. But — ; — (Looking appealingly at Stephen.) 

Ste. Here's your chance, my girl. Here's your 
answer to the other fellow. ' 

Lucy. I haye given him my answer. 



Gil AFT. 51 

Ste. Well, you can give Mr. Bamford his and say 
yes. He's got money. 

Bamford (eagerly). Yes, I've got money and I 
spend it. I'll give you the time of your life. 

Lucy. Don't spoil this evening for me, Mr. Bam- 
ford. You've made me so happy, so grateful to you 
all for letting me help in your charity. I only knew 
to-night how rich I am. It frightened m3 — the 
thought of so much money. I was afraid of it . . . 
of my unworthiness. Until you showed me the way 
to use it well. I was proud that I . . . and now 
. . . father, this isn't fair of you. 

Ste. What isn't fair ? 

Lucy. Why didn't you tell Mr. Bamford ? (To 
Bamford.) I'm engaged. 

Ste. (r.c). Don't lie. You're not. 

Lucy (bravely). I choose to consider myself en- 
gaged. 

Ste. He's a pauper. Look here, my girl, you're 
rebellious to-night. I'm master here. I'm not the 
sort of fool to let you twist me round your little 
finger. Don't think because you're twenty-one 
and got a thousand a year (the sum moves Bamford 
visibly) that you'll ride rough-shod over me. (More 
gently.) You've got to be sensible. (Smacks table.) 
You've got to do what I tell you. 

Bamford. You shall have your carriage and 
dress yourself as much as you like ; and what's more, 
marry me and you'll be . Mayoress of Carrington in 
November. 

Ste. Wait a minute, Bamford, not so fast. 

Bamford. What's the matter ? 

Ste. (crossing l.). Engaged, if you like, but no 
wedding till the Polygon deal's complete. The pro- 
fits on that are mine. 

Bamford. Of course they are. I'll hand over 
your share when we've sold to the town. 

Lucy. Sold ! Profit ! I thought 

Ste. Never mind what you thought. (Goes up 



52 GRAFT. 

to Lucy.) That wasn't meant for your ears. You'd 
better go back to the other room now. I'll talk to you 
after Mr. Bamford's gone. (Indicating her to exit.) 

Lucy. I hope Mr. Bamford will remember I'm 
engaged. 

Ste. He'll remember you're going to be — to him. 
(Crosses down R. above table.) 

Lucy. Father, I've obeyed you long enough. 
I'm twenty-one now, and I'm going to take my own 
way. 

Bamford (doubtfully). I don't like the look of this, 
Verity. 

Ste. Look of what ? 

Bamford. She's a bit of a Tartar, isn't she ? 

Lucy. That's nothing to what I can do when 
I'm roused, Mr. Bamford. 

Ste. Pssh ! It's the first time she's broken out 
like this. She'll be tame enough next time you come. 

Lucy (viciously). Don't make too sure of that. 

Ste. I'm not afraid of that. It's a pity if a man 
can't do as he likes with his own flesh and blood. 

Bamford (warily). Best sleep on it before you say 
more, Verity. 

Ste. (going to Lucy). Yes. Go to bed, Lucy, and 
say over to yourself , I'm going to marry Mr. Bamford. 
Then you'll get used to the idea. 

Lucy. But I'm not. 

Ste. Aren't you ? We'll see. 

Lucy. Yes, we will. (At exit l.) 

Curtain. 



ACT III. 

Archibald Vining's house in the Polygon the following 
afternoon. The room is large and lofty with the 
air of serene mellowness common to old houses. 
The door is r., behind the large mantelpiece. Behind 
is a French window, beyond which the- garden is seen. 
The room is panelled ; its incidental trappings 
suggest occupants hardly able to live up to their sur- 
roundings; the furniture is faded ; the carpet worn. 
Walter sits on a chair to the r. of the window 
against the wall. Down l. is his father Augustus 
Montgomery at an escritoire. On a large settee 
placed crosswise l. sit Mrs. Montgomery and Mrs. 
Vining. Archibald Vining is posed with an 
elbow on the mantelpiece, looking across at Mont- 
gomery. The ladies gaze at him with admiration. 
Montgomery Senior is sixty, rather bald, weak-faced, 
futile, dressed in light grey morning coat and trousers. 
Vining is ruddy, irascible, with white moustache 
and grey hair, in black morning coat and grey trousers. 
The women are both rather foolish. Mrs. Mont- 
gomery is stout and Mrs. Vining lean, but there is 
otherwise not much to choose between them in age, 
which is about fifty, or anything else. Their dress 
is conventional without being fashionable or expensive. 
They live next door and Mrs. Montgomery has 
come in without a hat. The light is of a sunny after- 
noon and there is no fire. Marjorie Vining, a 
tall athletic girl, sits by the window c, with a tennis 
racket, looking, increasingly bored. 



54 GRAFT. 

Vining (dictating). " Your rumoured intention 
to sell the Polygon " — got that, Montgomery ? 

Montgomery. Yes. (Looking up timidly.) Ex- 
cuse me, Vining, I can't help saying it again, but are 
you quite sure we form a quorum ? 

Vin. (assertively). Of course we do, my dear fellow. 
Don't distress yourself. 

Mont, (desperately). But — but there are five 
houses in the Polygon and only two are represented 
here. 

Vin. We know the views of the rest. 

Mrs. Vin. Their views are ours. 

Vin. Quite so. Allow for unavoidable absentees, 
and your scruples vanish. Shall I proceed ? 

(Approval from settee. Montgomery bends and writes.) 

" Dear Sir, — At an indignation meeting of your ten- 
ants in the Polygon " 

(Montgomery writes at intervals, when others talk.) 

Mrs. V. Archibald, have we any right to be 
indignant with Sir Charles ? 

Vin. We are indignant, aren't we? 

Mrs. V. Yes. But will Sir Charles quite like us 
to tell him so ? 

Mont, (pathetically). It's deucedly — beg pardon — 
it's hard to be diplomatic. How would " protest 
meeting " do ? 

Vin. Too political. Let "indignation" stand. 
We must show him he's roused the sleeping lion. 

Mont, (acquiescent). I'll underline it if you like. 

Vin. No ! No ! Firmness, my dear Monty, firm- 
ness, not ostentation. 

Mrs. M. (gushingly to Mrs. Vining). What a man 
of affairs Mr. Vining is! 

Vin. (filling his chest). I flatter myself I put things 
through, Mrs. Montgomery. Now, Monty ! 



GRAFT. 55 

Mont, (reading). " At the indignation meeting — 
urn — held on the — urn — it was resolved to respect- 
fully address " 

Mrs. V. Oh! 

Vin. (reprovingly). Well, Cecilia ? 

Mont, (puzzled). That's in order> I think. 

Vin. Quite. Go on. 

Mrs. V. But, Archibald, to address a split in- 
finitive to a baronet ! 

Vin. I stand corrected. Thanks, Cecilia. 

Mont. I don't quite see 

Vin. (moving him to write). It was resolved re- 
spectfully to address 

Mont, (correcting and reading). To address a 
letter to you on the subject of your rumoured inten- 
tion to sell the Polygon. 

Vin. Correct, I think ? (Approval from the 
settee.) 

Mont, (proceeding). It is our hope that should 
this information be correct, bracket, which we hesi- 
tate to believe, bracket, you will reconsider your 
decision to give over to the hands of the jerry builder 
the only residences in Carrington habitable by persons 
of refinement. 

Vin. Excellent. (Approval from settee. Vining 
crosses l. to above Montgomery and takes letter ; 
patronisingly.) You write a clerkly hand, Monty. 
(Picks up pen.) I'll sign as the oldest resident 
present. 

(Montgomery swallows a protest, remaining seated, 
Vining signs, bending over.) 

What a pity Sir Charles is abroad. We shall be 
kept waiting for his reply. 

Mont. You got his address from Dunkerly ? 

Vin. (putting envelope before him). Yes. Hotel 
Metropole, Monte Carlo. 



56 GRAFT. 

(Montgomery writes and encloses letter. Vining 
goes to French window and opens it.) 

I'll have this posted at once. (Calls.) Pilling ! 

(He returns. Montgomery crosses r. 'and sits above 
fireplace.) 

Mont. Ah, well [ That's settled. 

Vin. (sitting at desk). Yes. 

Mar. (rises). Jolly glad to hear it. I'm fed up. 
Come out and play tennis, Walter. (Puts chair 
down c.) 

Walter. Not this afternoon, Marjorie. 

Mar. Oh, be a sport. 

Walter. Some other time. 

Mar. It's always some other time with you, now. 
I'm forgetting what you look like in flannels. You'll 
lose all your form if you don't practice a bit. 

Walter. I'm afraid I must let it go. (Rises and 
crosses l.) 

Mar. It's pure slacking. Don't be so beastly 
serious, if you are in Orders. Come and be a muscular 
Christian on the lawn. 

Walter. Something more serious to-day, Marjorie. 

Mar. Oh, rot ! What's the good of having the 
courts if you don't use 'em ? 

Mont. They certainly might be used more by 
you young people. 

Walter. They might be used by hundreds of 
people if 

Mar. Oh, blow, you're getting on your hobby 
horse again. I'm going to practice putting if you 
won't give me a game. You are a rotter. 

(Exit Marjorie c. to l. Pilling appears c. from l. 
in his shirt- sleeves.) 

Vin. (closes desk and crosses up l.c). Oh, Pilling, 
just post this letter at once. Are your hands clean ? 

Pilling (inspecting his very black hands) . Not very, * 
sir. 



GRAFT. 57 

Vin. Go and wash them and come back for it. 
Pilling. Yes, sir. 

(Pilling vanishes to r. Vining crosses to fire.) 

Mrs. M. I can't understand Sir Charles wanting 
to sell at all. 

Mrs. V. No. What would Carrington be with- 
out the Polygon ? 

Walter (quietly). I'm not sure that it wouldn't 
be a good deal better off, Mrs. Vining. 

(They all stare at him astonished.) 

Vin. What an extraordinary thing to say. Why, 
we are Carrington. 

Mrs. V. We've always lived in the Polygon. We've 
taken root, Carrington's gone on its way 

Vin. A precious bad way, too. 

Mont. Other times, other manners, Vining. 
. Vin. Carrington has no manners — but the Polygon 
has stood aloof. Thank God we leisured people have 
no connection with the town roughs. 

Walter. Then how can you say you are Carring- 
ton ? 

Vin. We are the best people in Carrington, sir. 
Do you judge a place by its quality or by the counting 
of heads ? 

Walter. I wish I could make you see their point 
of view, Mr. Vining. 

Vin. (snorting). Their point of view. 

Walter (quietly). They have one, you know. 
Before that letter goes to Sir Charles, I'd like to 
try, 

Mrs. M. Walter, remember what the Polygon 
means to all of us. 

Walter. It's a survival, mother. It's out of date 
in the midst of a modern manufacturing town. 

Mont, (pathetically). But — but, Walter, it means 
so tremendously much to us all. It may be out of 
date, but I did hope it was going to last our time. 



58 ORAFT. 

Vin. It's got to last our time. (Sincerely.) I'm 
not a deeply religious man, but I get reverent when I 
think of the Polygon. 

Mrs. M. That's just it. We all love the Polygon. 

Mrs. V. The five houses. 

Mont. Chatsworth. 

Mrs. V. Apsley House. 

Mrs. M. Marlborough Lodge. 

Vin. Kenilworth and Abbotsford. 

Mont. And our gardens. 

Vin. And the tennis ground in the middle. 

Walter. Which nobody uses except Mar jorie. 

Mrs. V. Are we to lose it all ? 

Vin. (with appropriate chest . expansion). Not if 
Archibald Vining can prevent it. 

Walter. You make it very hard for me to go on. 

Vin. Then don't go on. 

Walter (crosses a). I must. Father, Mr. Vining, 
you— all of you — are wrapped up in the Polygon. 
You hardly go out of it except to the station. f 

Mont. There's nothing else in Carrington to go to. 

Vin. Thank goodness we've no business to take 
us into those mean streets. 

Walter. You haven't, Mr. Vining, but I have. 
I see the other side of the picture, if yOu don't. 

Vin. Well, my dear boy, every town has its 
back stairs. 

Walter (s^'ts a). Carrington's all back stairs, and 
cramped stairs they are. There's no breathing 
space. What right have we to monopolize the air ? 
We've room to move about— so much room that you 
need never go out of the Polygon. 

Mont. We pay for the privilege, don't we ? 

Walter. Yes, you pay for it in money and they 
pay for the lack of it in health. 

Mont. If there's -overcrowding it's a matter for 
the town authorities to deal with. 

Walter. They want to deal with it. They want 
the Polygon. 



GRAFT. 59= 

Vin. They can't have it. They must know it 
'ud be cutting off their nose to spite their face. 
The Polygon's essential to Carrington. 

Walter. Why ? 

Vin. It is Carrington. I tell you this, young 
man, Carrington' s last state would be worse than its 
first if you took us away. We — we circulate money. 
We give the place a tone. 

Walter. It's a tone the place could do without. 
It could do without your money. We are not 
Carrington. The factories are the essential Carring- 
ton. Mr. Vining, (rising and taking a step to r. c.) 
let me show you what it's like — whole families living — - 
no, not living — pigging in a single room. Rooms cut 
up amongst two or three families. All in Carrington, 
our neighbours in Christian Carrington. 

Vin. Thanks. I'm not the sort of man to put 
my head into a noose. I prefer to keep out of in- 
fection. 

Walter (appealingly). Don't send that letter to 
Sir Charles. Don't try to influence his decision. 
The workpeople can't move out of the town. They 
must live near their work. You can move. Divi- 
dends can reach you anywhere just as easily. 

Mrs. V. Move of ourselves ! Never ! 

Mrs. M. Walter, you don't understand what 
you're asking us to do. You're young. You can 
change easily, because you're young and restless. 
But when you've lived in a house that's dear to you 
till it's become part of your life, you can't leave it in 
your old age. 

(Walter crosses above settee.) 

Mont. I can't leave my garden. You know 
that. No other garden would mean the same to me. 

Vin. My dear friends, you needn't worry. Car- 
rington would never let us go. Walter's got hold of 
the wrong end of the stick. We're an institution. 



60 GBtMt&T. i 

Walter. How do you know ? Did you ever ask 
them what they think of us ? 

Vin. I'll ask Pilling. You'll see. (Crosses up c.) 

Walter. I shouldn't advise you to. I know 
Pilling's home. He's a wife and child. They all 
Jive in one room. 

Vin. Why, I pay the man twenty-two shillings 
a week. What does he live like that for ? 

Walter. He's no choice. Pilling 'ull tell you 
what Carrington thinks of the Polygon. 

Vin. He's a long time washing his hands. (Goes 
up to window and looks off r.) 

Walter. But you're not going to send that 
letter now. 

Vin. Certainly we are. (Returns R.c.) 

Walter. But — — 

Mont. I think we're all agreed on that ? 

Vin. Quite. No stone unturned. That fellow 
who's coming, what's his name — you know, Walter 
— that alderman 

Walter. Verity ? 

Vin. Verity. That's it. We must make sure of 
the town authorities. A little affability goes a long 
way with people of that sort. 

Mrs. V. Yes. He's not the type of man you're 
accustomed to meet in my drawing-room, Mrs. Mont- 
gomery, still 

Mont. It's in a good cause, Mrs. Vining. 

Mrs. M. He's an architect, isn't he ? 

Walter. He's a builder who's his own architect. 
That's why his houses fall to pieces. 

Mrs. M. That's what I say. An architect. 
Almost a professional man. 

Walter. But you mustn't pin your faith on 
Verity. He's, the last man 

Vin. Walter, as a Churchman, I am always willing 
to accept your views on religious matters. But 
when it comes to worldly questions, permit me to 
have an opinion of my own. 



GHAFT. 61 

(Pilling appears and knocks on the window without 
advancing into the room.) 

Oh, Pilling! 
Pilling {in c.o.). Yes, sir ? 
Vin. Come in. 

(Pilling advances a foot and stands awkwardly near 
the window.) 

Pilling. Letter ready, sir ? 

Vin. (absently). Yes, yes. (Montgomery rises r 
gets letter from mantel ; hands it to Vining.) There 
you are. 

(Up to Pilling, who turns to go.) 

One moment, Pilling, I want to ask you something. 
Can you tell me how people in the town talk of the- 
Polygon ? 

Pilling. How they talk, sir ? 

Vin. Yes. What's the general opinion of us ? 

Pilling. It's not for the likes of me to talk against 
the gentry. 

Walter. They do talk against us, then ? 

Pilling (awkwardly). Well, sir— — (He pauses.) 

Walter (helping him out). Tell them how you 
live, Pilling. 

Pilling. You can tell that as well as me. 

Vin. (impatiently). Yes, yes, but that's not the 
point. Doesn't your class feel what a privilege it is 
to have us living in your midst ? 

Pilling (earnestly). I'd be badly off without you, 
sir. 

Vin. You'd be sorry to lose us, eh ? 

Walter. Of course he would. A gardener's no 
use if there's nothing to garden. Only Carrington's 
not a garden city. It's a manufacturing town. 

Mont, (with back to fire, to Pilling). Supposing 
now you weren't a gardener ? 

Vin, Yes. What's the common view of us ? 



62 GRAFT. 

Pilling. Well, sir, it 'ud seem to me against 
nature if the town had no quality in it. 

Vin. {turning triumphantly to Walter). You see? 
(Patronising Pilling.) You're perfectly right, Pilling. 
I've noticed it before. (Talking at the ladies.) The 
masses always have this instinctive clinging to their 
■superiors. They know we're the source of all pros- 
perity. 

Pilling (shyly). There's queer talk, sometimes, 
sir. / know gentlemen are different from us, but 
there's men in this town wanting to tell me we're all 
born equal — asking your pardon, sir. 

Mrs. V. You know better than that, Pilling. 

Pilling. Yes, mum. 

Vin. You could never get on without us. 

Pilling. No, sir. 

Walter. Be honest, man. No one's going to 
hurt you for it. Tell us the truth, about the over- 
crowding and the waste of valuable space in the 
Polygon. 

Mrs. V. Yes. Tell us the truth, Pilling, and say 
you know how necessary we are. 

Pilling. You're bread and butter to me, mum, and 
I know it. 

Vin. There you are, Walter. 

Walter (impatiently). But he's an exception. 
He's 

Vin. (interrupting). You've got the letter, Pilling. 

Pilling. Yes, sir. (Turning, then courageously.) 
There's no denying as the overcrowding's something 
cruel. I wouldn't say a word of it, not to you, sir, if I 
didn't know and see and suffer it. 

(Montgomery sits again below fire.) 

Vin. That'll do, Pilling. 

Pilling. Yes, sir. (Turns to go.) 

Walter (to Vining, crossing above sofa a). You 
hieard that. Won't you wait ? Wait till Verity's 
been. You'll catch the same post. 



GRAFT. 63 

Vin. (pause). Give me the letter, Pilling, I'll keep 
it back a little. 
Pilling. Yes, sir. 

(Exit Pilling, c.) 

Walter. Thank you, Mr. Vining. 

(Maid announces Mr. Verity. Maid withdraws- 
Stephen is dressed as Act II, and very sure of 
himself, except at odd moments) 

Vin. (patronisingly). Ah, Mr. Verity. Pleased 
to see you. (Advancing.) 

Ste. (up r. c, shaking hands; very formally). 
How do you do ? 

Vin. You know us all, I think? 

Ste. (dryly). By sight. 

Vin. (hurriedly). Yes. Sit down, won't you ? 
(Sits above fire.) 

(Stephen does so, uncomfortably, c. Walter stands 
R. end of settee.) 

Now come to business, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. Yes ? 

Vin. What we want to see you about is this con- 
founded rumour of the Polygon's being up for sale for 
building lots. No doubt you've heard it ? 

Ste. I've heard tell of it. 

Vin. Have you thought about it at all ? 

Ste. I've thought a lot. 

Mont. Well, what do you think, Mr. Verity ? 
Could anything be more absurd ? 

Ste. (nodding his head towards Walter). Ask him. 
He knows what I think. 

Walter. Mr. Verity's of my opinion, father. 

Vin. We don't want your opinion, sir. You're 
full up with all sorts of idiotic modern sentimentalism 
about the poor. It all comes of the Church meddling 
with secular matters instead of minding its own busi- 
ness. Mr. Verity's a man of sense. 



64 GRAFT. 

Ste. Thank you ; but I don't know that I can do 
anything. 

Mrs. M. (sweetly). Oh, but I'm sure you can, Mr. 
Verity. You've such influence in the town. You're 
a man of weight. 

Ste. If I am, madam, what had the town to do 
with Sir Charles selling the Polygon ? 

Mont. How can the town get on without the 
Polygon ? 

Mrs. M. I'm sure you, as an architect, Mr. Verity, 
must feel the importance of preserving such fine 
examples as these are of old Georgian mansions. 

Mrs. V. So many links with the historic past. 

Vin. (impatiently). It 'ud be a blue ruin for the 
town. 

Mont. Sheer catastrophe. You're a leading 
personage here, Mr. Verity — alderman and so on. 
Of course you have the interest of the town at heart. 

Ste. (with faint irony). As much as you have 
yourselves, I dare say. 

Vin. (recovering first from the slight general em- 
barrassment). Er, yes. Now, don't you think a 
petition from the Town Council to Sir Charles might 
do the trick ? You see, the Polygon's the backbone 
of the place. I can't for the life of me imagine what 
Sir Charles is thinking of. 

Ste. The price. 

Mrs. V. Now, that's ungenerous of you, Mr. 
Verity. Sir Charles would never be so selfish. 

Ste. (stolidly). Think not ? 

Mrs. V. He wouldn't turn us out for money. 
(Vining and Montgomery are not so sure.) 

Ste. It's hard times for the rich. 

Mont, (timidly). Yes, I suppose it is. 

Ste. (with aggression). It is. I know. I'm rich. 

Vin. (pompously). I agree with you. We people 
of independent means have been hard hit lately. 
What with the differential income tax and the super 
tax, we — — 



GRAFT. 65 

Ste. We all think we'd like to pay the super tax, 
don't we ? 

Vin. Er — yes — we can rely on your sending that 
petition then ? 

Ste. Can you ? 

Mont. I thought you said so. 

Ste. I don't remember. 

Vin. Dash it, Verity, we men of property must 
hang together. In a little matter of this sort I'm 
sure you'll come in with us. 

Ste. Yes? Well, I'm sorry to disoblige you. 

Mrs. M. But surely as an architect 

Ste. (interrupting). Now it's no use of you talking. 
I've said my say. 

Mont. But you must have some reason. This is 
really most extraordinary. 

Ste. Is it ? What's extraordinary in a man 
getting back a bit of his own ? 

Vin. Have we offended you, Mr. Verity ? I'm 
very sorry. You speak as if you had some grudge 
against us. 

Ste. Grudge ? I hate the sight of you if that's 
your meaning. 

Mont, (rising). This is simply staggering. Why, 
Mr. Verity, we've always been good neighbours, I 
hope. 

Ste. (still sitting). You've kept yourselves to 
yourselves, if that's what you call being good neigh- 
bours. Who've you been good neighbours to ? The 
shopkeepers ? You don't deal with them if you 
can help it. London's your mark when you've 
money to spend, and that's not every day of the week. 
How often have you got your hand down for a local 
charity ? Folks get sick and tired of coming to ask. 
You buttoned up your pockets so tight. 

Vin. Other people, at least, don't share your 
views, sir. 

Ste. Ask 'em. (Rising.) You silly little set of 
genteel paupers, who did you think you were ? (Ladies 

E 



m GRAFT 

rise.) We' weren't good enough for you. You lived 
in the Polygon ; we lived in the town, and you held 
your noses too high to see us if you met us, which 
wasn't often, because you stuck inside your private 
preserve and didn't have truck with us vulgar folk 
outside. We weren't your class. You patronising 
snobs, do you fancy I can't see through your getting 
me here and soaping me to send your petition from 
the town for you ? The town can go to blazes for all 
you care, so long as you're left alone in your nice big 
gardens. 

.Vin. (rises and goes up to door r.l Mr. Verity, 
I'm sorry to have to remind you there are ladies 
present. 

Ste. I can see 'em. That's why I'm letting you 
down so easy. I'd let it rip if you'd the courage to 
turn 'em out and meet me man to man. 

Mrs. M. {moving towards door). We'll go. 

Mont, (r., timidly). I'd rather you didn't, my 
dear. 

Ste. Yes. He'd rather you stayed, and kept a 
stopper on my tongue. 

(Vining opens door and signs to ladies to go.) 

Walter (coming to r. of Verity). No, mother. 
Mr. Verity, don't let us lose our tempers about this. 
It's too important for petty feelings. 

Vin. (indignantly). Petty feelings, indeed ! 

(The ladies stand by door, irresolute.) 

Walter (appealingly). Oh, don't split hairs 
over words. The town's crying for fresh air and 
health. The town wants to buy the Polygon. 

Mont. The town does ? 

Walter. Yes, didn't you know ? 

Vin. (looking at Stephen). So it's the town ? 

Walter (as Stephen doesn't answer). Yes. 

Mrs. M. (up by door, r., dropping to Montgomery 



GRAFT. 67 

by fire). Augustus, don't you think, after all, we 
ought perhaps to (Hesitating.) 

Vin. (l. c. fiercely). To what, Mrs. Montgomery? 

Mrs. M. Well, I'm sure there's something in what " 
Mr. Verity and Walter say. (Sits in armzh%ir above 
fire) 

Mont. Come, this is weakness, my dear. 

Vin. No compromise, Mrs. Montgomery. 

Mrs. M. I shall never feel at ease again when I 
think of the overcrowding in the town. 

Vin. Then don't think of it. 

Mrs. M. I can't help thinking of it now. 

Mont, (to Walter). Oh, dear, I do wish you'd 
kept your mouth closed. 

Walter. And my eyes closed, and my nose 
closed, and gone about Carrington without looking 
at it. No, father, I meant to stir your conscience, 
and I'm glad I've done it. - (Sits.) 

Vin. Well, I must admit — -hang it, Verity, if 
people are crowded why don't you build 'em houses ? 
It's your trade. 

Ste. No land. 

(About here Pilling appears c. with somz garden 
stuff in /lis hand, and Mrs. Vining exit with him 
for some consultation.) 

Vin. There's land enough outside. Why can't the 
town expand outwards ? To hear you talk about 
the Polygon the town might have a wall round it. 

Mont. Yes, there's lots of moorland about the 
place. 

Ste. Quite so. Lots of moor. 

Mont. Well, then ! 

Ste. Shooting moor. Sir Charles' shooting moor. 

Vin. Well, what difference do a few acres more 
or less make to a shooting moor ? Surely he'd rather 
sell you some of that. 

Ste. Think so ? 

Mont. I'm certain of it. 



68 ■ GRAFT. 

Ste. (sitting on settee). You're wrong, then. He's 
holding on for a rise. He's held on to this till the 
value went up. Land here in the centre's worth 
more than land outside. , This is ripe. The other 
isn't. That's why he'll sell this. 

Vin. (r. a). Well, if that's really so 

Ste. (grimly). It's really so. 

Vin. (with an air of finality). All I can say is I 
shall most certainly have to revise my opinion of 
Sir Charles. (Crosses down l.) 

(Pilling is visible through the window working a 
mowing machine in the garden ; he passes and re- 
passes at intervals.) 

Ste. Did you think your tin pot rents paid Sir 
Charles to let land like this lie idle ? 

Mont. He likes to have us here. We're desir- 
able tenants. 

Ste. Pardon me. As a property owner I know. 
Desirable tenants are paying tenants. 

Vin. Do you insinuate that we don't pay ? 

Ste. You don't pay a profitable price. He can 
make a little gold mine of the Polygon. Land 
values in the town have been going up all the time. 
He's cute enough to know it, or his agent is. The 
only question is, will our price tempt him or is he able 
to be greedy and wait a bit longer till the land's 
worth more. 

Mont. And you mean to tell me we've been 
living on the edge of a volcano all these years ? 

Ste. You've been living in Sir Charles' almshouses 
for decayed gentlefolk. That's our name for it in 
the town. 

Vin. Sir ! 

Ste. (calmly). It's the truth. What did it matter 
to him how little he got out of you meantime ? He 
knew very well it's a fortune waiting for him when- 
ever he wants it. 

Mont. I'd no idea of this. (Sits below fire.) 



GRAFT. 69 

Ste. You know now. If you hadn't been so 
busy with thinking what nice people you were and 
what nasty brutes lived outside you'd have found it 
out for yourselves. Not one of you's on lease. You 
can all be turned out at six months' notice. 

Vin. We trusted to Sir Charles' sense of honour. 

Ste. I wouldn't trust him with sixpence, and I'm 
a sound Tory at that. 

Vin. I still think you're wrong, sir. You've given 
us your view. We're much obliged. (Sits l.) 

Ste. (sneering). You'd be more obliged if I'd 
given you your petition. 

Vin. Your view was unexpected. 

Ste. Was it ? (Turning to Walter.) I thought 
he'd told you. 

Vin. Unexpectedly strong. 

Ste. You've not heard the half of it. You've 
been the bane of the town. It's a working town and 
it does the working man no good to have the sight of 
a lot of idle people living well and doing nothing for it. 
Breeds discontent. Makes him ask questions. That's 
what you've been to us. A public nuisance. Easy 
game for every agitator to have his shy at. Do you 
think we employers loved you ? They didn't mind 
us. They could see we worked for our living. But 
you set of do-nothing wastrels 

Walter (a). Mr. Verity ! (Vining rises and 
goes up to back, returns, then round to r. c.) 

Ste. What's to do ? You've been saying the 
same to them yourself, haven't you ? 

Walter. I did my best to gild the pill. 

Ste. Well, I'm not a parson. I haven't the gift of 
using big words for little 'uns and talking sweetly 
about Hell. 

Vin. (dropping r. of Walter to below him). Well, 
now look here, Mr. Verity, you needn't suppose 
that I'm influenced in the slightest by your extremely 
forcible language, but a possible compromise occurs 
to me. 



70 GRAFT. 

Ste. Does it? I thought I heard you say just 
now " no compromise." 

Vin. (r. c). This is a compromise of my own sug- 
gesting, sir. 

Ste. I'm not the compromising sort. Still, go 
ahead. What's your idea ? 

Vin. It's this, sir. I grant you we're drones, and 
I can see there's something in what you say about the 
sight of a few idle people taking a lot of room, though 
I take exception to the way you put it. 

Ste. (drily). Aye. 

Vin. (r. a). Now we've an affection for these 
houses of ours. 

Ste. Of Sir Charles'. 

Vin. Yes, of Sir Charles'. We're attached to the 
bricks and mortar. You can understand it. 

Ste. I never thought you'd shift willing. 

Vin. Just so. We're not willing to shift. But 
my idea is this. We're all old people, and our families 
have married off. There's no young blood in the 
Polygon, except Walter here and my daughter, to 
use those tennis courts and croquet lawns of oups. 
They're pleasant to' walk about in and it's a real sacri- 
fice to part with them. But I propose writing to 
Sir Charles suggesting that if (crossing to l. c. and 
back ; returns to l. for end of speech) he cares to sell 
you some building land outside the town we will 
sacrifice our lawns for a park if he will leave our 
bricks and mortar standing till — till we old fogies have 
done with them. How does that strike you, Mr. 
Verity ? 

Ste. It strikes me your motto will do for me as 
Well as for you. 

Vin. My motto ? 

Ste. No compromise, Mr. Vining. 

Walter. Mr. Verity, surely it's a fair offer. It's 
generous. It's 

Ste. Indeed ! If that's your notion of gener- 
osity 



GRAFT. 71 

Vin. It's my last word. 

Ste. (rises). Then I need stay no longer. (Moves 
towards door:) 

Walter (rises). Oh, but 

(Maid announces " Miss Verity." Enter Lucy. Exit 
Maid.) 

Ste. You ! What are you doing here ? 

Lucy (crosses up r. a). I came to see Walter. 

Ste. But — I locked you up. 

Lucy. As you see, I've escaped. 

Walter. Locked you up ! 

Lucy. Oh, yes. Father does things like that. 

Ste. Come home, girl. 

Lucy. Not yet. I'm a rebel to-day. You locked 
me up because I refused to marry Mr. Bamford — ■ — 

Walter. What ! 

Lucy. And I've escaped to tell the truth about 
you and 

Ste. Hold your tongue. 

Lucy. No. I'm going to tell Walter all I know. 

Ste. (sneering). He's welcome to sllyou know. 

Lucy. He's welcome to all I know and all I am. 

Mrs. M. Walter, what does this mean ? (Rises.) 

Vin. I have never heard a more immodest speech. 

Walter. Miss Verity and I are engaged. 

Ste. You're not. You agreed last night that 
you weren't. 

Lucy. That was before you had thrown me at 
Bamford's head. I'm engaged to Walter, and I've 
things to tell him, things I've discovered about 

Ste. Be quiet, will you. 

Lucy. No. This is no time for concealment. 
We've got beyond all that. 

Ste. You've nothing to conceal. 
Lucy. Then why do you try to stop my mouth ? 
Ste. I don't. I'm here on business. I've no 
time for girls' foolishness. Vining, can we go some- 
where to draft that letter ? (Crosses down to Vining.) 



72 GRAFT. 

Vin. Letter ? What letter ? 
Ste. The compromise. 

Vin. I thought you said (Crossing slowly.) 

Ste. Never mind what I said. Shall we go ? 
Lucy. Yes, go, while I tell Walter all I know. 
Ste. Tell him what you like now. 

(Exit Stephen with Vining.) 
Curtain. 



ACT IV. 

Verity's dining-room as] Act II ; a week later. Bam- 
ford and Stephen enter from r. Stephen just 
pocketing his watch. 

Stephen. You're a bit early for the meeting, Sam. 
(Crosses to c. above table.) 

Bamford. Yes ; fact is, I wanted a word with 
you alone about that other matter. 

Ste. Lucy ? 

Bam. (r. a). Aye. I'm a bit uneasy about it, 
Verity. 

Ste. No need to be. 

Bam. Well, I am. 

Ste. Natural enough, I dare say. When a young 
man's fancy turns to thoughts of love it churns up 
his inside a bit. 

Bam. Tisn't that. I'm not a young man. 
(Crosses l.) 

Ste. You're young enough for all marriageable 
purposes. 

Bam. I'm doubtful if I'm the right man to make 
that girl happy. 

Ste. You're going to be Mayor, aren't you ? 

Bam. Yes. 

Ste. And you promised her a carriage ? 

Bam. Yes. 

Ste. And as much dressing as she's a mind to ? 

Bam. Yes. 

Ste. (sits above table). Then what's troubling you ? 
What else does any female woman want ? 



74 GRAFL 

Bam. (sits l. of table). Eh! I dunno! They're 
a grasping lot, women. 

Ste. Damn you, Sam, do you fancy my girl's 
not been well brought up ? You're as good as telling 
me she's not good enough for you. 

Bam. Nay, I'm not; I'm only thinking I may not 
be good enough for her. 

Ste. I'm best judge of that. The thing's settled. 
We said it once, you and I, and we're not weather- 
vanes. 

Bam. (resignedly). Yes, I suppose it's settled. 

Ste. That's all right, then. 

(Maid announces Mr. Smithson. Enter Smithson, r- 
Maid exit.) 

Ah, good evening, Smithson. (Rises.) 

Smiths. Good evening, Verity. (Shakes hands.) 
Evening, Bamford. 

Bam. Good evening. 

Ste. (to Smithson). Seen anything of Alcorn ? 

Smiths. Yes. He's gone round to the Post Office 
on his way here to see if a letter's been forwarded from 
the London office. 

Ste. Well, sit you down. 

(They sit at table. Stephen head, Smithson r. 
and Bamford l.) 

I've a bit of news for you gentlemen. 

Smiths. Yes ? 

Ste. I've been paying a call — afternoon call on 
some friends of mine in the Polygon. 

Bam. What ! 

Ste. Take it easy, Sam. (Chuckles.) Aye, they 
wanted the Council to petition Sir Charles not to sell. 
Tried to get me to do it for 'em. 

Smiths. Good, that. 

Ste. Well, we'd a little talk, Mr. Vining and I, 
and we come to a sort of a compromise. 

Smiths. Compromise ? 



GRAFT, 75 

Bam. Compromise. J Verity ? I don't likejthat word. 

Ste. Finish was, they've written to Sir Charles 
asking him to sell the town their grass plat — tennis 
courts and what-not— if he'll leave their houses 
alone. 

Bam. Verity, I don't like this. Ask me, it 
sounds like treachery to the company. 

Ste. Treachery be hanged. I drafted the letter 
myself. 

Bam. That makes it worse. 

Ste. Don't be stupid, Sam. 

Bam. (indignantly). Stupia ! I say, Verity — — 

Ste. Put yourself in Sir Charles' place. He's got 
an offer, the company's offer, cash down for the 
whole Polygon. 

Smiths. Aye. 

Ste. Well, say he has got a soft spot for his 
tenants there, old tenants, doesn't want to turn them 
out, that sort of thing. 

Smiths. Quite likely. 

Ste. Then he gets their letter. Sees they're 
ready to lose their tennis courts. All right, says he, 
if they're a slack back set of weaklings to propose 
that of themselves, I shan't have any trouble in 
getting shut of them altogether. Their rents aren't 
worth having. But the company's offer's a sound 
ready cash affair. He's a bit short of the ready, isn't 
he? 

Bam. Aye. Above a bit. 

Ste. So when he sees they'll shift without trouble, 
being weak enough to offer a compromise before 
they're even asked for one, he'll take a flying jump 
at our offer, and there you are. And a good after- 
noon's work I call it. 

Bam. Verity, I apologize. You're the dandiest 
schemer I ever saw, and I've seen some warm 
members in my time. 

Ste. Well, they sent for me. I didn't think this 
out. I just saw the chance While I was there. 



76 GRAFT. 

Smiths. You don't let much pass you, Verity. 

Ste. I take my brains along when I go calling 
of an afternoon on my swell friends. I'd like to bet 
that letter Alcorn's fetching says " Yes" to our offer. 

Bam. It's odds on, or I'd take you. 

(Maid announces Mr. Walter Montgomery. Enter 
Walter. Exit Maid.) 

Ste. Hullo ! Oh, damn ! 

Walter (r. a). Good evening, Mr. Verity. Good 
evening. I hope I don't interrupt business. 

Ste. Young man, you appear to have a lot of 
time on your hands. 

Walter. It's an important part of my business 
to visit my parishioners, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. Humph ! Our turn for your parochial 
attentions soon comes round again. You were here 
a week ago. 

Walter. On my own business that time, sir. 

Ste. What is it this time ? 

Walter. You're sure I'm not interrupting you ? 

Ste. I'm sure you are. Go on. 

Walter. I've come to put you on your guard. 
You led me to suppose, and I in turn told Mr. Vining, 
that the town authorities were proposing to buy the 
Polygon. 

Ste. And aren't they ? 

Walter. As an Alderman you ought to know that 
better than I do. 

Ste. Never mind what I know. The question is, 
what do you know? 

Walter. Oh, we fellows who go into the Church 
don't know much. You told me yourself we go there 
because we're chicken-hearted fools without an ounce 
of sense or fight in us. 

Bam. Can't you make him cut the cackle, Verity ? 

Walter. Cackling's a professional failing, Mr. 
Bamford. We get the talking habit in the pulpit. 

Bam. You're not in the pulpit now. 



GRAFT. 77 

Walter. No, sir. In the pulpit I'm in good 
company — my own. 

Bam. What the 

Walter. In this room I'm in the company of 
certain members of a rascally syndicate who hope 
to buy the Polygon cheap from Sir Charles and sell 
dear to the town when they've carefully engineered a 
public demand. 

Smiths. Who told you ? 

Ste. Teh, Smithson ! Where the devil did you 
raise this cock and bull story ? 

Walter. Oh, I don't think it was the devil. 
On the contrary, in fact, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. Come to facts. 

Walter. Facts ? Shall I give you names ? 
(Strolls round back to fireplace.) I regret the absence' 
of Mr. Alcorn and Miss Verity, but — well, gentlemen,, 
you're found out. 

Ste. (pause). And if we are ? (Rises.) 

Smiths, (to Stephen). And if we are, some one's 
blabbed. 

Bam. (to Stephen). And you're the only one who 
pays afternoon calls in the Polygon. 

Ste. (bending over table, beneath his breath). Fools!' 
(Aloud.) Do you think I foul my own nest ? 

Bam. Then if it isn't you, who is it ? Tell me 
that. 

(Stephen looks first at Bamford, then Smithson, 
then suddenly moves to door l. and calls.) 
Ste. Lucy ! Lucy ! Come here ! (Returns abov 



Bam. That's the worst of having a woman in the 
thing. They will talk. 

Ste. How could she talk ? She knew nothing. 

(Lucy enters.) 

Walter (l.). Funny how things get about,, 
isn't it ? 



78 GRAFT. 

Lucy (up l.). Did you call me, father ? 

Ste. (to Walter, still ignoring Lucy). Get about ? 
How many have you told ? 

Walter. Oh, I've told nobody. Secrets cease 
to be valuable when they're told, and I don't mind 
telling you this secret's going to be a valuable lever 
to me. 

Ste. (to Lucy). You've been talking to him. 

Lucy (up l.). Yes. I told him all you told me. 

Ste. I didn't tell you anything. 

Lucy. Oh, yes. You and Mr. Bamford. (Stephen 
turns on Bamford.) 

Bam. I ? I never breathed. 

Lucy. You squabbled together about the profits. 

Bam. We did say something. 

Ste. And you pieced it out from that ? 

Lucy. Yes. 

Bam. Um ! smart girl, Verity. Chip of the old 
block. 

Ste. Bit too smart this time. I hope she'll never 
play you a trick like that. 

Bam. Yes, by Gad. I hadn't thought of that. 

Walter. Well, gentlemen ? 

Ste. Oh, I'll attend to you. Look here, Sam — 
Smithson, I'll tackle this chap. Just go into the 
other room there, will you ? (Pushes Smithson 
to go below table.) I've a private word for the parson. 

Bam. Can I smoke there ? 

Ste. (r. a). Aye. 

(Exeunt l., Bamford and Smithson. Walter before 
fireplace, Lucy c, above table, Stephen r. of table.) 

Now, Mr. Montgomery, my lad, what sort of a 
trick do you call this to play on your future father- 
in-law ? You've a queer idea of tact, you have. 

Walter. It wasn't my intention to be tactful, 
sir. 

Ste. You're not improving your chances of 
marrying my daughter, you know. 



-ORAFT. 79 

Walter. How do you know I want to marry her ? 
Lucy. Walter ! 

Ste. Why, you told me so yourself, the other 
night. 

(Lucy sits in armchair l. above fire.) 

Walter. Since then, you see, I've made dis- 
coveries. If a man is known by the company he keeps, 
the same applies to a woman. The woman I'm going 
to marry doesn't help to form a robbery syndicate 
along with Messieurs Alcorn, Smithson and Bamford . 
So if you thought to buy my silence by giving me 
your daughter, you made a bad mistake. No. 
Bamford's the man for her. Partners in scoundrelism, 
partners in life. 

(Enter Bamford l. and crosses r. c.) 

Ste. What do you want now ? 

Bam. (apologetically, crossing r.). All right. I 
only want my pipe. Left it in my overcoat. 

Walter. Mr. Bamford, I congratulate you. 
(Holding out hand.) 

Bam. Eh ? On what ? 

Walter. On being my successful rival for the hand 
of Miss Verity. 

Bam. What's this ? Was he the other you 
spoke of? (To Stephen.) 

Walter (to Lucy). Don't be afraid. 

Ste. Yes. 

Bam. (to Walter). Who told you about me ? 

Walter. Oh, news soon gets round. (Lightly.) 

Bam. (r. a). Does it ? Well, there's two sorts of 
news. Correct news and incorrect news. Both sorts 
gets round, but incorrect news gets round most. 
See what I mean ? 

Ste. (sternly). I don't. 

Bam. (to Stephen). You will. (To Walter.) 
Look here, have you given her up ? 



80 GRAFT. 

Walter. You wouldn't have me stand in your 
way, would you ? 

Bam. So you have given her up. Why ? 

Walter. Oh, I had my reasons. 

Bam. Had you now ? I'd like to hear those 
reasons. 

Walter. That's not quite fair to the lady, I think;. 

Ste. No. He's out of it. 

Bam. Is he ? I take no man's leavings without 
I know why he left 'em. 

Walter. It's all square, man. She's yours now. 

Bam. I beg to differ. 

Ste. (angrily). What ? 

Lucy (rises to go). The goods needn't be on ex- 
hibition while the sale proceeds. 

(Stephen points her angrily to chair l. She sits.) 

Ste. Here, sit down. Now, Sam, what's it all 
about ? 

Bam. I'd as lief tell you when you're by yourself. 

Walter. I thought so. 

Ste. You can speak now. We're all concerned 
in this. 

Walter. I beg your pardon. I've ceased to 

Ste. (his back to the right door). Now, Sam ? 

Walter (sitting below fire) . Oh, very well. 

Bam. (r. c, awkwardly). Well, I've been thinking 

things over. The married state and — well 

(Hesitating.) 

Ste. (grimly). Yes, go on. 

Bam. (desperately). It means giving up too much. 

Ste. (c.). And a good thing, too, Sam Bamford. 
How much longer do you think you'll last at the 
pace you go ? You're cracking up already — not half 
the man you were. 

Lucy (icily). Think how nice it would be to have 
me for a nurse. I warm father's carpet slippers 
beautifully, don't I, and my gruel's a dream. 



GRAFT. 81 

Bam. There's many a long day between me and 
carpet slippers and gruel. I like roving about, Verity, 
and that's a fact. 

Ste. Didn't you think of that before ? 

Bam. I spoke hurried. 

Ste. It's time you settled down. You won't lose 
much that a thousand a year and home comforts 
don't match. 

Bam. I'm rich enough. 

Ste. You didn't talk like that on Tuesday. 

Bam. (irritably). I tell you, I've thought things 
over. Fact is, I didn't half like the way she answered 
you back. A man gets enough worries in his work- 
ing day. When he gets home he wants peace and no 
back answers. 

Ste. She's all right now. It was having him 
asking {indicating Walter) that made her proud. 
He's thrown her over— not good enough for him. 

Bam. And she's not good enough for me, either. 
I can be a bit particular myself. I like 'em quiet. 

Ste. She's as quiet as they make 'em. 

Lucy. Father, I absolutely and finally decline to 
marry Mr. Bamford. 

Bam. I ask you, does that sound like a quiet life ? 

Ste. Well, damme, Sam Bamford, you can't get 
a thousand a year without paying a tax- on it. 

Bam. You can pay too much tax if you get a 
woman thrown in with a razor instead of a tongue. 

Ste. (disgustedly). I thought you were a man of 
your word. 

Bam. And I thought you cracked to be a friend 
of mine. 

Ste. I am your friend. 

Bam. Perhaps ; but as a rule when a man's as 
anxious as you are to sell an article I begin to think 
there's something wrong with the goods. 

Ste. Didn't I tell you on Tuesday I didn't want 
her to marry at all ? 

Bam. Didn't Sir Charles' agent write me he 

F 



82 Graft. 

wouldn't want to sell ? And you know what y.ou 
said about that. 

Ste. But I'm not selling. I'm giving. 

Bam. Yes, and nobody ever knew you to give away 
anything worth having. What's he given her the 
chuck for, if it comes to that ? He knows something. 

Walter. Yes. I know something, Mr. Bamford. 

Ste. (raps table). I'm not going to be played 
about with like this. I never asked either of you 
to come after my daughter. You came because you 
liked, but you'll not cry off when you like. 

Bam. What do you mean now ? 

Ste. One of you's going to marry her. 

Bam. It won't be me, then. I don't want any 
woman with a temper of her own. 

Ste. I tell you she hasn't got a temper. 

Lucy (rises). I've got a tongue. 

Ste. Be quiet. 

Lucy. I won't be quiet while you wrangle over 
me like r 

Ste. (thundering). Go to your room. I'll tame 
you. 

(Lucy deliberately sits down.) 

Bam. There you are, Verity. Regular spitfire. 
Too late to send her away now. I know what she is. 

Walter (rising). So do I. She's a monstrous 
woman with an abnormally developed bump of busi- 
ness capacity and I absolutely decline to marry any 
member of a syndicate of avaricious thieves formed 
to swindle 

Ste. (interrupting). She's no more business capa- 
city than a flea and I'll take her off the syndicate 
to-night, if that 'ull please you. Now then, which of 
you is it to be ? 

Bam. I don't wish to quarrel with you, Verity. 
I've told you I'm taking none.; 

Ste. (briskly). All right. Then you marry 
young Montgomery, Lucy. (Moves l. above \ 



GRAFT. 



83 



Lucy. He says >.he won't have me while I'm in 
the Syndicate. 

Ste. I'll get you out of that. 

Bam. You can't do that, Verity. (Moves to 
table r.) 

Ste. Can't I ? I will, though. 

Bam. You'll upset the whole thing. 

Ste. I'll look after that. 



(Maid 



announces Mr. Alcorn, 
exit Maid r.) 



Enter Alcorn : 



Ste. Ah ! Got the letter, Alcorn ? 
Alcorn. Yes. I don't understand it. 
Ste. Just a moment. (Opens door l. and calls.) 
Smithson ! 

(Enter Smithson.) 

Walter. I'd better go. 

Ste. You've no need. You know so much about 
it you can stay and listen to the rest. (Gets chair.) 

(Stephen sits at head of table. Bamford, Smithson, 
Alcorn sit as in Act II. Lucy stands r,, Walter 
sits below fire.) 

Alcorn. Well, gentlemen, he won't sell. (Taking 
out letter.) 

Ste. Refuses to sell ? What does this mean ? 

Smiths, (to Bamford). And you assured us he 
was broke. 

Bam. So he was, absolutely broke. I don't 
understand it at all. 

Al. No more do I. Listen to this. (Reading 
letter.) " I regret my inability to entertain the offer 
made by your company. I have reason to believe 
that owing to overcrowding the land is urgently 
wanted and that the town authorities .wish to deal 
with the matter themselves. I am having the tennis 
lawns, etc., valued independently and the town may 
then purchase at the valuation. I shall, however, not 
disturb my old tenants in the Polygon, this letter 



84 GRAFT. 

referring only to the open space now used as tennis 
lawns." Now what in thunder do you make of that ? ■ 

Ste. (looking at Walter). You ? 

Walter, A letter to Monte Carlo only costs 
tuppence-halfpenny . 

Bam. But hang it, Verity, the town isn't buying. 

Ste. On the contrary, Sam, the town is. The 
overcrowding is a scandal. We must have some 
fresh air. 

Smiths. Oh, don't talk like a blooming philan- 
thropist again. 

Ste. I'm talking like a blooming alderman. 

Al. This isn't a town's meeting. It's a company 
meeting. Stick to company business. 

Ste. The company has no further business. 
The company is wound up. 

Bam. Damned if it is. This letter doesn't end 
all. It's your fault, Verity. You shouldn't have 
gone to the Polygon. You over-reached yourself. 

Ste. This would still have happened, Sam, in any 
case. 

Bam. I don't see it. Why ? 

Ste. Mr. Montgomery can tell you. 

Bam. Well, it's not all up. Let's have what he 
offers. 

Ste. He doesn't offer us anything. He offers it 
to the town. 

Al. And the town must buy. 

Ste. The town shall buy. 

Bam. Yes; well I said houses. Let's make it 
houses. Model dwellings as ugly as hell, for the 
Polygon toffs to look at every time they poke their 
noses out of doors. 

Ste. Don't be spiteful, Sam. We've had a lick- 
ing, but don't* bear malice. 

Walter. Thank you, Mr. Verity. 

Ste. Oh, I'd forgotten you were there. Oblige 
me by going into that room for two minutes. You 
can wait in there till we're through. 



GRAFT. 85 

Walter. But what have I to wait for ? (Rises.) 
Ste. Sorry to occupy your valuable, time, but 
you're going to wait. You'll find a fire. 

(Exit Walter l.) 

That chap's wasted as a curate. (Sits.) He's 
beaten me ! Me licked by a bricking curate ! 
Al. But I don't understand. 
Ste. Oh, he got hold of our company idea, told 
Sir Charles and smashed our plans. That's all. 
Nothing very serious. We're out of pocket for a 
few expenses that won't hurt any of us, and we've 
missed a good piece of plunder. Well, the thing to 
do now is to turn round and do the handsome over 
that recreation ground. Our idea for the benefit of 
the town ! My negotiations with the Polygon ! If 
we can't get cash by it, gentlemen, let us get credit. 

Smiths. And what about the rates ? 

Ste. Well, what about them ? More fresh air, 
less ill health. Less ill health, less poverty. Less 
poverty, fewer paupers. That recreation ground 
'ull pay for itself in less than no time. If there's 
going to be any barging about the rates we'll raise 
the money by subscription, and for two pins I'll 
head the list myself. 

Al. It's a queer finish to our plans. 

Ste. It is a finish, Alcorn. We're knocked out, 
and we've got to take it with a big, broad smile and 
nobody will even so much as guess we've meant any- 
thing but the square thing all the time. 

Bam. That curate 'ull talk. Curates are always 
talking. 

Ste. No, he won't. 

Bam. You can't stop an old woman gossiping. 
Gab's a parson's stock-in-trade. 

Ste. He's no old woman. He's a wideawake 
young man and he's going to marry my daughter — 
if she's free. That'll shut his mouth for him. 

Smiths. Well, we'll leave that to you, Verity. 



86 GRAFT. 

Ste. You can, safely. 

Al. It's been a lot of trouble all for nothing. 
(Rises ; general rise.) 

Ste. Well, we're good sportsmen, I hope, and 
the Carrington recreation ground 'ull be an everlast- 
ing monument to our civic enterprise and public 
spirit. 

Al. Aye, I'm beginning to feel good already. 

Smiths. It's a disappointment, Verity. Ah, well, 
we can't win every time. 

Ste. No. Better luck next. time. Good night, 
Smithson. (Takes chair up stage.) 

Smiths. Good night. Good night all. 

.Al. I'm coming your way. 

Smiths. Come along then. (Crosses r.) 

Al. Good night. 

(Exeunt Smithson and Alcorn, r.) 

Bam. I'm glad they've gone. Something to put 
to you, Verity, private. 

Ste. About her ? 

Bam. Her ? No. I've said my say about that, 
and you need her to shut the curate's mouth. 

Ste. I'll shut his mouth without that if you 
want her. It's a thousand a year, you know. 

Lucy. The auction recommences, Mr. Bamford. 

Bam. Don't fret yourself, Miss Verity. I'm not 
bidding. You've had my last word, Verity. 

Ste. Well, what's this you want to say ? 

Bam. About me being mayor. That stands, of 
course ? 

Ste. No, it doesn't. (Above table.) 

Bam. But 

Ste. That was a contract made by a company 
that's wound up. 

Bam. But, hang it, I'd counted on being mayor. 
I've mentioned it to one or two. (Goes above table R.) 

Ste. All right, then. There's your mayoress. 

Bam. Is that the price ? 



GRAFT. 87 

Ste. There's your mayoress. 

Lucy. I won't be haggled over. 

Bam. Miss Verity, it's not you. If I wanted to 
marry I dunno as I'd look an inch further. It's — 
I'm not the marrying sort and that's top and bottom 
of it. 

Ste. Sam. I'll be mayor myself if it's only for the 
fun of opening that recreation ground to the public 
and making a speech about the anxious negotiating 
the Council had to do before they brought off this 
great scheme and conferred an inestimable boon on 
the deserving working classes. 

Bam. Oh, if you're putting up for mayor, I retire. 
I can't fight a man of your weight. 

Ste. Fight be hanged. We're good friends. 

Bam. Aye. You've got your man in there. 

Ste. Well ! (Pause.) Yes. 

Lucy. It's very sweet of you not to want to marry 
me, Mr. Bamford. 

Bam. Ask me to the wedding. 

Ste. Yes, you should be good for a thumping 
present after this. 

Bam. I'll stand my corner. You've to tackle the 
curate. I'll be off. 

Ste. Good night. 

Lucy. Good night, and thank you. 

Bam. It's me that's thankful. Good night. 

(Exit Bamford. Stephen crosses to left door, opens 
it and calls.) 

Ste. Now, Mr. Montgomery. 

(Enter Walter. Lucy rises, l.) 

Walter. Well, sir ? (Crosses to r. below table.) 

Ste. (c. above table). Are you or are you not 
going to marry my daughter ? 

Walter. That depends. 

Ste. I'll tell you something. The syndicate's 
bust. In fact, there never was a syndicate. 



88 GRAFT. 

Walter. You mustn't ask me to believe that, 
sir. You gave the thing away yourself. 

Ste. (impressively). There never was a syndicate. 
A limited company isn't a limited company till it's 
registered. We weren't registered. You under- 
stand ? You can't go telling people about a syn- 
dicate that never existed. 

Walter (smiling). That sounds reasonable. I 
shan't tell. 

Ste. Yes. Well, what about my daughter ? 

Walter. I thought you objected to me. 

Ste. I did. But I begin to think there's more in 
you than meets the eye. 

Walter. Thanks for the compliment. 

Ste. I do wish you weren't a 'curate, though. 
(Crosses to fire.) There's nothing in the Church for a 
smart man. 

Walter. There are plenty of prizes in the Church. 

Lucy. And Walter's going to win them, father. 
(Up to Walter.) 

Walter. Yes. 

Ste. He's not won much yet. 

Walter. This is all the prize I want, Mr. Verity. 
(Takes her hand.) 

Ste. She's not a bad start, either. You've got 
round me, and it takes a bit of doing. (Crosses to 
Walter.) Look here, my lad, I come of a long lived 
stock and you'll disappoint me if I don't see you a 
bishop before I die. I'll come to the Palace, Lucy, 
and hang my hat up some day. (Going to exit to leave 
■them together.) 

Curtain. 









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